Shadow of a Doubt
by ZairaAlbereo
Summary: Sirius didn't get that newspaper from Fudge and never broke out of prison. The summer after his uneventful third year in Hogwarts, Harry receives a letter from the Ministry that turns his world up-side-down. He has a godfather?
1. Clutch of Circumstance

**A/N: **Yes. A new story. It has me really excited, and I hope you will like it. The idea that engaded me was, 'What if Harry and Sirius got to know each other in a situation where Harry doesn't know that Sirius is innocent?' And I wanted to try writing an older, 'canon' Harry. :) Well, there are plot-bunnies you can put aside, and there are stories which start writing themselves in your head. This is one of the latter. And it is like recreation for the muse. But don't worry! I'm not abandoning 'The Heart's Desire'. The next chapter is half written, and I plan on updating both stories fairly regularly. :)

Thankfully I have ambush99 in the boat with me on this one too. Thank you so much for always coming through for me. I'd be a mess without you!

This one is for jogger. Because she is all things wonderful.

* * *

**Shadow Of A Doubt**

_by Zaira Albereo_

~*ZA*~

**Chapter 1 – Clutch of Circumstance**

He had not thought that the place would be a freaking nightmare.

He had not thought about many things it seemed. Harry didn't know what he had expected, but certainly not this. And now that he stood here, in the howling winds in the middle of the sea, on a rock that was much too small to be rightfully called an island, he wasn't so sure anymore whether this had been a good idea.

The rock was maybe as big as the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. But it was much colder and the weather was a lot worse. The sky was a dark, stormy grey and hung so low that Harry thought he would almost be able to touch it if he reached up. The wind threw gushes of spray into his face, and he was feeling the water run into the collar of the grey cloak his companion had given him not ten minutes ago in a place that must have been what Harry could only guess was many hundred miles away.

Harry was a little scared. Just a little, but then he had not even reached his destination yet. No, his destination was right in front of him, only about a mile away on another, slightly larger piece of rock. A foreboding tower of black stone rose up high into the sky, and it seemed to exude a frosty breath that reached across the dark and stormy waters, making Harry shiver even deeper inside than the cold of the wind and water. It was as if it reached right down into his very soul, taking all his hope and happiness.

His companion, a wizard by the name of Hardstone, cast some sort of spell, although Harry couldn't hear the words above the roaring of the wind. A huge silver form erupted from the wizard's wand, and Harry watched, stunned at how it seemed to be running out over the waves, weightlessly, but then turned around in a circle, coming back towards them. When it stopped in front of Mr. Hardstone, Harry could see that it was a large, silvery cat. Or maybe the ghost of a cat, because it was not corporeal.

''What is this?'' Harry yelled over the noise.

Mr. Hardstone looked at him, seemingly scrutinizing him. ''Something to shield and protect us.''

Harry stared at the cat. ''From what!'' he yelled again.

''You will see,'' Mr. Hardstone said ominously, looking over to the tower with a grim face.

Harry swallowed as his heart met with his stomach.

~*S*~

It all had started with a letter.

The letter had arrived the usual way, or rather, the usual way for wizards. A large brown barn owl had swooshed down through the open window on a sunny Saturday afternoon at half past three, stirring up the rolls of parchment on his desk, and, after a complimentary round around his room, had landed on the back of the chair.

Harry, who had been dozing on the bed, resting after three hours of strenuous weeding in his aunt's garden, struggled up on his elbows and straightened his lopsided glasses. The owl hooted at him indignantly and held out its leg towards him. Harry blinked. The owl looked very official, like one of the Ministry owls, and Harry had very bad experiences with those.

Frowning, he got up, and carefully approached the bird. The letter he carefully untied from the owl's leg looked just as official, and Harry's heart started to beat a little faster. He reached for one of the owl treats on the desk, but the large bird seemed to give him an appalled look and took off.

''I didn't want to bribe you, you know?'' Harry called after it, annoyed.

But the owl had already vanished behind the tree tops. Harry just hoped his uncle had not seen it. Biting his lip he sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the creamy white letter. It was addressed to _Mr. Harry Potter – personal & confidential_. He swallowed nervously. That sounded... important. Turning it around, he saw that there was an emblem on the back. A large M, on golden ground, perched on the pans of a scale, with the latin words 'Ignorantia juris neminem excusat' around it. The letter really was from the Ministry.

Harry desperately tried to remember if he had done anything that could count as an offence in the wizard world. He was rather sure he had not done any accidental, much less any voluntary magic. He had been in enough trouble because of it last year. Harry stared at the words. Ignorance of the law excuses no one. This could only be bad. Apprehension was beating down his curiosity, but nevertheless he ripped the envelope open, as he would have pulled off a band-aid.

His heart started to hammer, when he read the letterhead.

_**Department of Magical Law Enforcement - Azkaban Wizard Prison Service**_**.**

His stomach dropped a little. This had to be a mistake. What could the wizard prison want from him? Thirteen year old Harry Potter? Swallowing hard, he began to read.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We write you today to inform you that a request has been made by a prisoner in our facility to invite you for a visit. Since the prisoner in question is under top security measures, only family members __who are fourteen years or older receive such permission. It has been confirmed that prisoner No. 396, Sirius Black, is indeed your godfather, so that Azkaban Wizard management herewith __grants_ _you visiting rights after your birthday on July 31__st__. Please contact us to make an appointment._

_Gloria Cattermole_

_Azkaban Wizard Prison Service _

_M.o.M. _

After he had read the whole thing three times, and it still said the same thing, Harry's hands sank down on his lap. Still clutching the ominous letter he stared out the window, as if the answers to the questions falling over each other in his head would come flying like the Ministry owl had just fifteen minutes ago.

He had a _godfather_!

Why had no one ever told him about that? Well, that might have something to do with the fact that the man was in _prison_. But since when had he been there? And more importantly what for?

Harry had only learned about the wizard prison Azkaban in his second year, when Hagrid, the gamekeeper and now Care of Magical Creatures teacher of Hogwarts's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had been taken there because the Ministry had thought he'd opened a secret chamber inside the school and let a monster loose on the students. Hagrid was twice as tall and strong as a normal wizard, and Harry had never seen him frightened. Until the moment he was told that they would bring him to Azkaban. When the Ministry admitted it had made a mistake, and he was finally released, Hagrid had lost a lot of weight and never talked about his stay in the infamous wizard prison.

And now he, Harry Potter, had a godfather in this place? And why did the man want to see him? Why now, after all the years he'd never heard from him? Oh, right,... the letter said you were not allowed to visit when you were younger than fourteen, because he was under 'top security measures'. Did that mean he had done something really bad? Or maybe he was under such high security because he had tried to break out before...

Harry suddenly remembered the childish dreams he had had when he was a little kid. He had imagined some mysterious family member searching for him and showing up at the Dursleys to take him away into a new and better life. Depending on what had been taking his fancy back then, these men were pirate captains, undercover agents, or – after reading 'The Count of Monte Cristo' – wrongfully imprisoned nobleman. Harry shook his head. He had out-grown these fantasies a long time ago. But he still had to admit that he was curious about what the man wanted from him.

Prisoner No. 396, Sirius Black. The name didn't ring a bell. He was sure he had never heard anyone speak about him before. Sirius Black, his godfather. What kind of person might he be? Well, duh Harry, probably a criminal, since he's in jail. He rolled his eyes at himself. Well, maybe he had not done something too bad. Maybe he had tried to rob Gringotts or something, that would actually be kind of cool. He couldn't be a really bad person, could he? Seeing that he was his godfather, didn't that mean that his parents had appointed him for that? And didn't that mean that he probably had been someone they had liked and trusted? But of course that had been fourteen years ago...

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon wondering about this mysterious godfather, and what reason he could have to ask him to visit him. He wanted to know more about this man, but whom could he ask about it? Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had not known his parents all that well, so the chances were slim that they would be able to give him information about any friends of theirs. Professor Dumbledore might at least know something about the man, after all he seemed to know almost everything, but Harry had no idea where the headmaster went during the summer. And wouldn't it be kind of rude to bother him with such a thing in the holidays? But no way could he wait for six long weeks, until the start of the new term! Harry briefly thought of Mr. Lupin, his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher from last year, he had after all been at school with his parents. But he had even less of an idea where the kind wizard had gone after he had resigned from his position at the end of the school year.

He needed someone else. Someone who knew his parents, knew the people they had been friends with... He pulled up his feet on the desk chair, resting his chin on his knees, while he stared at the trunk at the foot of his bed. It was a wild chaos of clothes, quills and books. And then his eyes fell on the photo album that Hagrid had made for him in his first year. He had sent letters to all of his parents' old school friends... of course! He could ask Hagrid! And Hagrid had been in Azkaban too. Maybe he had even met Sirius Black?

Hastily, Harry searched for an unused piece of parchment on his desk and grabbed his quill. After dipping it into the ink, he wrote.

_Dear Hagrid,_

_How are the holidays so far? Have you already planned any new classes? Over here it has been a slow summer so far. My aunt put me to work a lot, and Dudley, my cousin, you have met him once, has been put on a diet. Unfortunately we all have to join in, so he won't feel so bad about it. _

_Today I received a strange letter from the Ministry. Apparently I have a godfather who wants me to visit him. I never even knew I had a godfather, and I wondered if you might know him? His name is Sirius Black. It says he is in Azkaban right now, which came as a bit of a shock. I would be happy about any information you could give me on him!_

_I hope you are well._

_Harry_

Harry scanned over the letter, and nodded to himself, pleased. He rolled it up and put it down on his desk. He would send Hedwig later tonight when it got dark. No use in risking the wrath of his uncle.

~s~

That evening, Harry sat down for dinner in front of a plate with an apple and a slab of cheese. It was the same food any of the Dursley family members got, but Harry's apple was the smallest, and his cheese was only half as big as Dudley's. Harry sighed inwardly. As soon as Hedwig was back he would have to write Ron a letter with a plea for help. His cousin, who was easily as wide as he was tall by now, might benefit in reducing his weight by half, but things looked very different when you were as skinny as Harry to begin with.

Harry seldom participated in any dinner conversation, or really any conversation at all with his relatives. His uncle liked to pretend that he wasn't in the room, as long as he didn't want Harry to fetch and carry that was, and the average time between Harry joining in a conversation, and him saying something that sent Uncle Vernon through the roof, was two minutes. So it was better to keep his mouth shut. Therefore Harry didn't pay much attention, only listening with one ear in case any alarming words fell. Like right now.

''... Marge hasn't heard anything from her either, it is rather impolite,...''

After almost jumping at the name of Harry' least favourite Dursley, he relaxed again. Thankfully it seemed another visit from Uncle Vernon's bulldog of a sister was not planned. After all the last time had ended in a fiasco, even though Aunt Marge herself wouldn't remember it.

''...after all she is Dudley's godmother...''

Harry's ears perked up again. He had not even considered to ask... but then Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister after all.

''Did you know that I have a godfather?'' he blurted out without thinking.

Silence settled over the table as three heads turned towards him. They always seemed surprised to notice he was still in the room.

''Nonsense!'' Uncle Vernon barked, ''What are you talking about? If you had a godfather we wouldn't have to take your ungrateful hide in to clothe and feed you!''

Harry swallowed back any comment about the Dursley's generosity. He was much more interested in the nervous twitch around his aunt's eyes he had noticed. Sensing his only chance to get some information tonight, Harry turned to his aunt.

''His name is Sirius Black! I know he must be a wizard, but maybe-''

''Haven't we told you often enough not to mention that unnaturalness under this roof!'' his uncle roared, slamming his hand on the table.

Harry knew that this was exactly the moment he should be shutting up, but he was certain that Aunt Petunia had reacted when she heard the name.

''Do you know him?'' There was a badly hidden note of hope and excitement in his voice.

''I most certainly do not!'' Aunt Petunia replied coldly, standing up to clear the table. ''A hoodlum and lazy layabout, just like your father, I bet. _No one_ ever came to claim you! And whoever would want a freak like you?''

Harry ground his teeth together, standing up as well. His aunt was pushing all his buttons.

''My father wasn't a hoodlum! He was a great wizard and-''

Aunt Petunia slapped him. Harry staggered backwards. That had not happened since the summer they had locked him in his room, two years ago.

''Not another word from you, you ungrateful freak!'' Uncle Vernon bellowed, his head turning purple. ''You stay in your room until we tell you otherwise! And if I hear so much as a sneeze from you,-''

''Fine!'' Harry cried, and turned around to run up the stairs and slam his door shut behind him. ''As if I would actually want your company,'' he hissed out of earshot, throwing himself down on to the bed.

An hour later, when he had calmed down a little and Hedwig had woken up from her nap, he sent the snowy owl out through the window, hoping that he would have more luck with Hagrid.

~*S*~

They took some sort of boat, just big enough for two people, to cross over the storm-lashed sea towards the tower. Mr. Hardstone had tapped his wand on the rusty looking chain, which led from the prow into the water and seemed to pull the boat by some magical force. Despite the high waves, the boat was smoothly gliding over the water but, whatever magic was responsible for that, it obviously couldn't keep the spray from showering Harry with a salty downfall. The big cat walked next to the boat, not at all disturbed by the storm or the wild waters.

It took, at the same time, an eternity and almost no time at all to reach the main rock. Harry's stomach was in knots by then. And then he saw them, although what it was that he was seeing he couldn't say. Cloaked figures, too tall and out of proportion to be human, who seemed to glide or fly rather than walk. There were dozens of them surrounding the tower, their long, ragged cloaks flapping around them in the storm. And only looking at them made Harry feel like his blood was freezing in his veins.

''Stay close to me, at all times, you hear me boy?'' Mr. Hardstone yelled.

Harry nodded hurriedly.

The silver cat prowled alongside them and, when it moved closer to him, as if on silent command, Harry felt a wave of relief flood through him. He carefully reached out his hand to stroke the fur of what looked like a silver panther, but all that he felt was a warm, tingling sensation that lit a spark of hope and joy inside of him. Harry instantly felt better. He really started to like this cat.

Mr. Hardstone seemed to be communicating with the ghastly, cloaked beings, although Harry wouldn't know how, since no word was spoken. But after a few moments they withdrew, and Harry saw what must be the main gate into the tower. It was easily three times as high as any human being and made of what looked like solid iron. But in the left of the huge wings was a smaller, man-sized door of rusty bars, and that was where Mr. Hardstone was leading him now. From under his cloak he pulled out a chain that hung around his neck, and which had a key attached to it that looked a little bit like the one Harry had to open his vault at Gringotts. Mr. Hardstone turned the key but, instead of the door opening, the bars seemed to slide back into the iron gate, leaving an opening for them to go through.

Mr. Hardstone stepped to the side, and silently gestured for Harry to take the lead.

~*S*~

The day that followed the arrival of the fateful letter Harry stayed in his room as his uncle had told him and, when the rays of the afternoon sun fell on the lawn in front of his window, he was already starting to dread the confinement. His relatives had locked him in before. The summer after first year they had only served him food through a cat flap. When he was younger they had even locked him in the cupboard under the stairs but he was older now and, since he'd gone to Hogwarts, he was used to having room to move. A whole castle and extended grounds to roam about.

His gaze fell on his precious broomstick. The Nimbus 2000 had seen many Quidditch matches during the last three years, but was well-cared for. His whole body itched to grab it, mount it, and just kick off. But that, of course, was impossible. Sighing, Harry slumped down on his desk chair and pulled 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' out from under a pile of parchment. For the next hours he tried to concentrate on his Herbology essay, failing more or less spectacularly.

~s~

It was sometime in the early hours of the morning when Harry was stirred by an insistent tapping. Still half asleep, Harry wondered since when the Dursley's had started to be so considerate to knock before storming into his room.

''What's it?'' he mumbled sleepily, turning around on his stomach and burrowing his face in the pillow.

The tapping was persistent. With one hand Harry fumbled for his glasses. The clock on the night table said quarter past three. And then he noticed that the tapping actually came from the window. Suddenly wide awake, Harry swung his legs out of bed and rushed over to it. There were two owls sitting on the windowsill. One was his own snowy white companion. The other wore the crest of the Hogwarts school owls. Wondering why Hagrid had not simply sent Hedwig back with his reply, Harry opened the window to let the birds inside. Hedwig flew up and landed on his shoulder, nibbling on his earlobe affectionately. The other one just stretched out its leg, hooting softly. Harry detached the letter and, after taking a treat, the owl flew up again.

Harry stroked Hedwig's wings gently. ''You were fast,'' he said, and she rubbed her beak on his cheek.

When Harry didn't react she nudged him, and only then did he see her outstretched leg with another letter tied to it. Confused he removed it, and Hedwig flew over to her cage to take a drink from her water bowl.

Turning on the lamp on his desk, Harry sat down, studying the two letters. He unrolled the scroll he had just untied from Hedwig's leg and read.

_Harry,_

_Don't under any circumstances go and visit Black! That fellow is a madman, it's what he is! You can't trust him! He is dangerous! I talked to Professor Dumbledore and he will be in touch. Don't do anything until then!_

_Hagrid_

Harry looked at the letter appalled. Don't do anything? What did Hagrid expect? That he'd just march out the door and take the next bus to Azkaban? He didn't even know where that was! So the other letter was probably from Dumbledore. Harry only hoped that it would hold something more of an explanation than 'Black is a dangerous madman'.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Hagrid has informed me of the letter you have received from the Ministry regarding your godfather. I know you must be quite shocked about this revelation. I can only ask you to remain calm and patient until I can explain the circumstances. I will arrive at your relatives' house on the afternoon of Saturday the 24__th __at 3 o'clock. Mr. Arthur Weasley, whom I believe you've met before, will __accompany me. Please inform your aunt and uncle __of_ _our visit. _

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

Harry stared at the letter stunned. Professor Dumbledore was coming here? To Privet Drive? Harry started to feel rather queasy. Suddenly the whole thing felt much more real than it had before. If Professor Dumbledore was bothered enough to come here, it had to be more than a misunderstanding. And he had confirmed it, had he not? 'regarding your godfather' the letter said. Not 'regarding the man claiming to be your godfather'. He really _had_ a godfather after all...

He would have thought that he had gotten used to the idea by now, but up till this very moment it had seemed more like the story from a book, not something that would actually happen to him for real. He wished the letter had said more about why Sirius Black was in prison. And for how long. Maybe he would be released soon? Maybe that's why he wanted to see him, maybe he wanted to claim his godson after he got out. Harry's heart skipped a beat. It occurred to him that some people would actually frown at his excitement to go live with a former convict, but it was a sign of how much he hated his life at Number four, Privet Drive.

Reading Dumbledore's letter again, he frowned thoughtfully at the mentioning of Mr. Weasley. Why would the headmaster bring him along? Maybe because Harry was going to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer? That would be great. Ron had said something about the Quidditch World Cup coming up, but that was only at the end of August. Would the Weasleys be okay with having him for such a long time? But what else could be the reason for Mr. Weasley's visit.

Tearing off a piece of parchment, Harry scribbled a short letter to Ron explaining about what had happened and asking if he knew why his father would join Professor Dumbledore for his visit. Just when he was about to roll it up, he remembered the diet situation and wrote at the bottom:

_The Dursleys have put me on a diet (long story) but I'm kind of starved, maybe you could send me some food?_

If nothing else, it might be another argument for him to leave the Dursleys at least for the summer, if not for good. After he checked on Hedwig, he decided to let her sleep at least until the morning and went back to bed too. But sleep wouldn't come anymore. He was much too excited, and also dreaded the idea of telling his aunt and uncle about the upcoming visit over breakfast.

~s~

It was a bright and sunny afternoon though, looking back, Harry thought that at least his aunt and uncle would have preferred it if it had been overcast and raining. They had not been happy when Harry had told them about the two wizards inviting themselves into their house. But when his aunt had heard the name Albus Dumbledore, she had turned pale and hushed her husband, sending Harry out of the room. Harry had tried to eavesdrop, and had heard his aunt's urgent whispers, but he couldn't make out the words.

''I hope they won't be tardy!'' his uncle snarled when the clock approached three o'clock. ''I don't have the time to wait around for your lot!''

Harry kept himself from pointing out that, since it was a Saturday afternoon, his uncle would normally do nothing besides sitting in front of the TV with a cold beer anyway.

''I'm sure they'll be on time,'' he mumbled.

''And they better not come here looking all freaky! Don't want to make a spectacle for the neighbours, you hear me boy?''

Harry didn't say anything. It wasn't like he had any influence on Professor Dumbledore's wardrobe anyway and, whatever he said, he knew his uncle wouldn't be appeased.

~s~

They arrived with the strike of the clock, and Harry couldn't hide a small grin at that fact, as he went to open the door. But it died on his face when he saw the serious look on Professor Dumbledore's face. He immediately felt like he had done something wrong. At least Mr. Weasley gave him a friendly smile, but he too looked worried.

''P-Professor, Mr. Weasley,'' Harry stammered, ''Why don't you come in?''

''Thank you, Harry,'' Dumbledore said, and there was this small twinkle in his blue eyes, as they surveyed Harry for a moment over his half-moon spectacles, before he stepped inside.

Mr. Weasley followed him and squeezed Harry's shoulder lightly. ''Hello, Harry,'' he greeted him warmly but with a hint of sadness which Harry couldn't really estimate. Feeling worried and confused, Harry let the father of his best friend lead him down the hall after his headmaster.

After a few quiet words from Dumbledore, too quiet for Harry to hear, his aunt and uncle retreated into the kitchen, leaving the two men and their nephew alone in the living-room. Normally Harry would have been surprised that they were so docile, but Albus Dumbledore obviously had a way to get people to do exactly what he wanted them to do, even his magic-hating Muggle relatives.

Harry stood just inside the door, looking from one wizard to the other, feeling more than a little awkward. Why did he feel like he had done something wrong?

''Sit down, Harry,'' Professor Dumbledore said, giving him one of his odd smiles.

Harry shuffled over to the couch and perched on the edge of the seat. He felt uncomfortable looking up at the two older wizards. Professor Dumbledore sat down in an armchair across from him, managing to look like it belonged to him. Mr. Weasley kept standing slightly to his left, looking a little uncomfortable himself, but sending curious glances around the room, undoubtedly secretly studying all the Muggle devices of Harry's relatives.

''Now Harry,'' the white-haired headmaster began, his tall form bowing slightly forward, his elbows on the armrests and his hands folded, ''I know you must have a lot of questions. And I promise you that I will answer them if I can. But I also want you to trust me. Should I decide that there is something that I can't tell you, it is for a very good reason. Do you understand that, Harry?''

Harry nodded, looking nervous. Dumbledore just had this effect sometimes. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, ''Why did nobody tell me that I have a godfather, sir?''

''A rightful question, Harry, but I can assure you that it was not my intention to lie to you. Sirius Black is indeed your godfather. But since he has been in prison for years, I thought you would not benefit from knowing about him, quite the opposite, I thought it might disturb you.''

''It did a little bit at first,'' Harry admitted. ''But then I was... curious, I guess. About what kind of person he is. What has he done to be sent to Azkaban?''

Dumbledore sighed almost regretfully. ''Ah, you see Harry, this is the reason I would rather not have told you about Mr. Black. As you might know, there are different offences that can earn a wizard a sentence in Azkaban. But in the case of your godfather, it was a truly horrible deed. He got a life sentence, and will never get out of there again.''

Harry's eyes widened. A life sentence? That didn't sound good. There went the idea of Sirius Black being about to be released and coming to claim Harry.

''What did he do?'' Harry asked quietly, not sure if he really wanted to know.

''He committed the most horrible crime of all. He committed murder,'' Albus said gravely, looking at him with a trace of pity and sadness.

Harry hung his head. ''M-murder...?'' he mumbled. ''Who did he...? I mean... what happened?''

''He killed thirteen innocent people with a single spell.''

''Was it an accident?''

''I'm afraid it was not.''

''But... why?'' Harry asked uncertainly.

''That's something I can't tell you, Harry.''

''W-what? Why not?''

''Because I do not know the answer myself.''

Harry fell silent for a moment. He wasn't sure why he was so disappointed. He should have expected something like this. People were not sent to Azkaban for nothing.

''Is there something else you want to ask me Harry?''

Harry nodded. There was something else, but he felt reluctant to ask. On the other hand it was the one thing he really wanted to know.

''Professor,... do you know, I mean, it must have been my parents who made him my godfather, wasn't it? So, why... would they have chosen... someone like him?''

The headmaster sighed. ''I am sure your parents would not have chosen him if they had known what he would become, Harry. But sometimes it is very difficult to see into the heart of people. They believed they made the right choice.''

''So... he was a friend of theirs?''

There was a moment of hesitation before Professor Dumbledore answered. ''He was a friend of your father. To be honest with you; Harry, he was his best friend. But sometimes people change... I wish I could tell you more, but there isn't always an easy explanation.''

''So... what do I do now?'' Harry asked.

''What do you mean?''

''He said he wanted to see me...''

''You don't have to meet him, Harry,'' Mr. Weasley cut in. ''Don't worry. You will never have to see him.'' Mr. Weasley's words were meant to reassure, but Harry strangely enough didn't feel relieved.

''Yeah... but... if I wanted to... could I?''

''Why would you want that, Harry?'' Albus Dumbledore inquired calmly.

''I don't know... it's just, he wants to see me, obviously, and I thought,...he must have a reason.''

''Harry, Azkaban prison is not a nice place.'' Mr. Weasley said, and his eyes were kind and sympathetic. ''People who stay there for very long, like Sirius Black has by now, they often become detached from reality. I don't think he can tell you anything that will be helpful to you, Harry,''

''Arthur is right, Harry. Azkaban really is no place for such a young boy.''

''Oh.''

''It would be best to let it be, Harry. Take my advice on that.'' Albus smiled at him and got up from his chair. ''Now if we have answered all your questions, I can only wish you a pleasant summer till we see each other in September.''

''Ehm... thank you, sir.''

''Me too, Harry,'' Mr. Weasley said, smiling at him, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. ''And if you need anything, you know how to reach us.''

''Oh, yeah,...'' Harry took the offered hand, feeling a bit stunned. Was that all? ''Thank you, Mr. Weasley.''

He followed them to the door, trying to identify this feeling of sickness and dread in the pit of his stomach. When they had reached the door he got up his courage and asked,

''Mr. Weasley, Ron said that maybe I could visit over the summer...?''

''Oh, yes, of course, Harry. We would be delighted. I probably will be able to get tickets for the Quidditch World Cup at the end of August. But I'm sure Ron will keep you posted on it.'' He gave Harry a last smile. ''Have a pleasant summer, Harry, and I hope we will have you with us later on.''

And then they were gone.

Harry fled up the stairs and to his room when he heard the door to the kitchen open. He could hear Uncle Vernon complain loudly about the impertinence of sending him out of the room in his own house, and the lack of manners in general. He really couldn't face the Dursleys and their snide remarks, not now. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, pressing his eyes closed and trying hard to shake off the heavy weight of disappointment. But there was a lump in his throat that almost hurt, and when he let himself fall onto his bed, burrowing his face in the pillow, his eyes were prickling. He felt silly and angry at himself. He really was no crier.

So Sirius Black was a murderer. And not just in one case, no his godfather had to go and kill a dozen. How could that be? How could his parents have made such a mistake? His father's best friend. It would have been so great if he could have... no, no use in would-haves. He wasn't a child anymore. He knew that life wasn't a fairy tale.

But he would have liked to just talk to him. Ask him why he wanted to see him. He didn't expect much, at least that's what he told himself. He just wanted to know. But of course they would tell him to be a good boy. And have a _pleasant_ summer. Oh, yes, he would have a great summer weeding, and scrubbing and cleaning, living on half a grapefruit and a slice of toast. This wasn't fair! It wasn't!

Harry turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. He really had wanted to meet this ominous godfather, of course that was before he turned out to be a murderer. But still... he had known his parents. His father's _best _friend! And of course he wasn't allowed to go. Or was he?

Harry bit his lip. Strictly speaking, they had not said that he wasn't allowed to go, had they? They had only said that it wouldn't be wise. That there was nothing to gain. But what if he thought differently? Harry knew almost nothing about his past or his parents. Should he really let this opportunity to find out more about them go? So the man had killed thirteen people with one spell. Harry still wasn't afraid. He had killed a Basilisk only a year ago, he could handle a criminal!

Determinedly, Harry got up and went to his desk, rummaging for the letter. There had been a slip enclosed to make an appointment. When he found it, he studied it thoughtfully. It was an application form for an appointment, leaving blank spaces to add the visitor, the one you wanted to visit and the date. Below that it requested the signature of the wizard, or of the guardian if the wizard was still underage.

Harry grinned satisfied. Now that wouldn't be a problem.

~*S*~

It was cold and dark, and there was something in the air Harry couldn't quite grasp. An anxiety that was made even worse by the faint sound of howling and screaming. Harry was starting to think that this might have been a very bad idea. Maybe he should have listened to, well, everybody really. But there was no turning back now, and so he followed Mr. Hardstone and the cat down the long gloomy corridor.

Harry's trepidation grew with every step he took, and his mind felt suddenly blank. He had no idea what he was supposed to do or say when-. His attendant stopped in front of a plain wooden door and fished for the key once more. Well, it definitely was too late for second thoughts now.

Mr. Hardstone held the door open for him, and Harry stepped into a dark room, scanning it immediately for the person he was supposed to meet. But the room was empty apart from a desk, a chair, a lamp and an old chest of drawers. The other thing it held was a window. But it wasn't a normal window, for one, it wasn't leading outside. It opened to another room, this one much more brightly lit, and with even sparser furniture. A rough wooden table and two chairs. But that wasn't what Harry was looking at right now.

There was something else in that room. Or rather someone else. A man. He stood in the corner opposite from Harry, his arms wrapped around himself as far as the shackles holding his hands together allowed it. He was tall but his shoulders were hunched, and he seemed to tremble a little. He looked like he was freezing. His clothes, Harry noted, were hardly more than threadbare rags. Harry stepped closer to the window, watching the man. He couldn't see his face, since his head was turned into the other direction, and his long, filthy mane of dark hair fell down, covering his features.

''He can't see you,'' Mr. Hardstone said. ''It's a one-way-window. All he sees is a blank wall.''

Harry nodded. He remembered such things from Muggle movies. Only there, it was always a mirror on the other side.

So this was Sirius Black.

He had expected something else. Someone broader and heavier, someone who sneered and put his feet on the table, and maybe spit on the floor or lazily smoked a cigarette. Someone more confident.

And then, suddenly, the man moved, raising his head a little and turning it towards Harry, or probably more the room in general since he couldn't see him, could he? He looked like he was taking the room in for the first time. Like he did not even known where he was. He seemed to be moving as little as possible, and it took a while until his drawn-up shoulders relaxed slightly. And suddenly Harry understood that the man wasn't cold, he was frightened.

TBC

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**Oh, you know what I need now, don't you? Please. I'm all anxious. What do you think? - Leave a review! :)**


	2. Black as the Pit

******A/N: **I know it has taken a little time. As you might know, this is not my only WIP right now, and I was really busy with the other one. But I AM eager to get this one on the road too. And I was absolutely STUNNED by the response the first chapter got from you readers. Wow. Seems I'm meeting high expectations, which honours me, and I do hope I will be able to deliver.

**Special thanks to**: **jogger**, my endless source of inspiration. **ambush99**, my wonderful beta.

**And all of you** **who gave feedback and praise! **(Especially all of those I can't reply to directly: HebHibHob, Roonil Wazlib, Hola, meredith baker, NJ, werauchimmer, Bluemoon, read addiction, Blah, jessc729), It was really wonderful to see all this enthusiasm! Starting something new is always an adventure, so I'm really happy you liked it! THANK YOU! :)

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**Chapter 2 - Black as the Pit**

_The captain of my soul... I am the captain of my soul... the captain of my soul... unconquerable...__I have __not winced... bloody, bloody but unbowed... I am the captain... the captain... the captain of my soul..._

~*S*~

If you were a thirteen year old wizard boy, living with your magic-hating Muggle relatives, you'd have to find a way to go about certain things. Like not letting your Magic books lie around in the open. Like keeping your owl out of sight and, if possible, hearing distance. Like trying to never say the w-word or the m-word, if you were not trying to provoke someone on purpose that is. Harry still had to be a bit more careful with the last one. He tended to let his temper run away with him. But if he wanted this to work, if he wanted to talk to the man who apparently was his godfather, he couldn't risk another Aunt Marge Fiasco.

Last summer, when Uncle Vernon's sister had been visiting the Dursleys, Harry's temper and, with it, his magic had gotten the better of him, and he had _accidentally _blown her up. Like a balloon. Making her airborne. The Ministry had to catch her and bring her back to normal, and wipe her memory, and it had all been a huge mess. And Harry had been explicitly told that any more such things would have unpleasant and dire consequences for him. They hadn't exactly said what kind, but Harry wasn't eager to find out.

So he had to go about this more underhandedly. If he had learned one thing from the disaster last year, it was that you couldn't try to get something from Uncle Vernon by asking nicely. And if you wanted to bargain, you'd better be damn sure that you were holding an ace. Unfortunately, Harry had very little to bargain with. He didn't own anything his relatives wanted and couldn't just take, apart from the gold in his vault, and he'd rather they didn't find out about that. But it had actually been that story with Aunt Marge that had opened his eyes to a few facts. One was that his Uncle not only hated wizards and magic in general, not only was he scared of them, he also knew very little to nothing about wizards. The other one was that the one thing Uncle Vernon seemed to strangely approve of was wizard bureaucracy. It seemed Uncle Vernon just liked there to be rules, even if they were made by wizards.

After the thing with Aunt Marge there had been a lot of bureaucracy. A whole pile of bureaucracy and papers to be signed. Confirmation that Aunt Marge had been brought back to her original size, and that no vital parts were missing. Affirmation that Marge had not been subjected to levitation charms before. Permission to remove certain memories involving her floating through the air and circling a chimney in Surrey. There had been so many papers, that Harry had found it no problem at all to smuggle a certain letter into the pile which, after his uncle had signed it with an important face, gave Harry permission to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends during his time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

So what he really needed now was a reason for his Uncle to sign the application form that would give Harry the possibility of visiting his criminal godfather in a high security prison. It was obvious that this was not something he could tell his uncle. Harry studied the paper thoughtfully. It didn't really hold any information about what you were applying for. Why should it, the applicant knew anyway, and so did the Ministry. But his uncle didn't. So what kind of appointment would his uncle approve of...?

~s~

Harry knew that he couldn't rush things. That would only make his uncle suspicious. But he also couldn't wait too long if he wanted to give the impression that Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley's visit had been related to the very appointment he now needed his uncle to sign his name for. So he waited till after dinner that night. It was always important to not bother Uncle Vernon during meals, especially if it was a meager one.

So after Harry had cleared away the dishes, he approached his uncle with the slip of parchment in hand.

''Uncle Vernon?''

A grunt was all the answer he got.

''Professor Dumbledore told me today that I need to see a doctor because of my head injury as a kid.''

''What!''

''You know, the one that left the scar,'' Harry explained with a serious face, ''It's very uncommon, and apparently he wants me to see a specialist to confirm that there is nothing wrong with my head.''

The lie had come smoothly, and Harry was almost sure that the suspicious look Uncle Vernon gave him was not because he didn't believe him, but because he had in fact always thought himself that there was something wrong with his nephew. Harry bit his lip, only partly pretending to be worried. He had to make this work.

''Hmph. So they finally caught on that you're a freak? Now you're even more so than the other freaks?''

Harry's cheeks heated with irritation. Not that he had expected any compassion from his uncle, but a little worry might have been appropriate.

''They just have to make a few tests,'' he said, trying not to snap. He couldn't mess this up just because his uncle was indifferent about his nephew's fake health issues. ''I need to make an appointment at that place in London, you know, where they treat my kind.''

Uncle Vernon glared at him, even though he hadn't said the bad word, only proving that it really didn't matter what he said, it was Harry's existence alone that could agitate the man.

''London! Do you think I have time to drive you around to some freakish voodoo doctor?''

''I can take the bus,'' Harry said quickly. ''It won't be a problem.''

His uncle stared at him out of his little beady eyes for a moment.

''Is it dangerous?'' he finally asked, and Harry felt a strange pang in his chest. Maybe he had underestimated the red-faced man. Maybe he did feel worried for Harry after all. ''You know, I don't want you to accidentally blow up the house or anything.''

Or maybe not.

''Well I have never heard of something like that happen, and Professor Dumbledore didn't say anything like it, but I guess the best way to be sure would be to see that specialist.'' Harry held out the parchment, ''You need to sign as my guardian, so that I can get an appointment.''

Uncle Vernon looked at him sharply, but then took the application form as if he was worried it might explode at any moment. Looking at it he frowned. ''Azkaban?''

''It's the name of the hospital,'' Harry lied quickly.

''Hmph. They'd better know what they're doing,'' he grunted, and then, under Harry's gleaming eyes, he signed the form.

''I'm sure they do,'' Harry said brightly. He only hoped the same was true for him.

~*S*~

Sirius Black, the man on the other side of the wall, was obviously on edge. His eyes were darting around the room, as if he was expecting something bad to happen. Harry still couldn't see his face properly, as the filthy black mane was obscuring the man's features. He watched as the wizard made a step further into the room, slow and staggering, steadying himself against the wall with his shackled hands. That was when Harry noticed that Black's feet were bare. They were dirty, and maybe even bloody and, in the cold of this place, and against the rough stone floor, it looked almost obscene. No, this wasn't at all what he had expected.

~*S*~

Harry's hand had been shaking when he had filled in the date of the 1st of August on the parchment for the requested visit. A Monday. One day after his fourteenth birthday. Then he had written the name of the man he wanted to visit. The name of the prisoner. Sirius Black. He had stared at that name in his own handwriting for a long time. Rolling the form up, he had then bound it to Hedwig's leg. There was a moment of hesitation, when he took her over to the window and she looked at him expectantly. It was that moment, where he could still have drawn back, changed his mind, put a stop to something he felt would leave a mark on him forever. Things would be different, he was sure of that, although he didn't know where that feeling came from.

He stroked over Hedwig's feathers tenderly. ''To the Ministry,'' he whispered, and then gave the owl a little nudge, and she took flight. Watching his snowy companion disappear behind the treetops, he let out a heavy sigh as relief and anxiety fought a raging battle inside of him.

Lying down on his sparse bed, Harry wondered if he should tell anyone about his plans. Anyone being Ron and Hermione of course. He assured himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong. No one had forbidden him anything. Okay, so he had lied to his uncle to get the signature, but he had to do that all the time. His relatives weren't exactly reasonable after all. So it wasn't like he had to keep it a secret really, although it might be better if Professor Dumbledore or any other teacher or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't know about it. Especially not beforehand. He could tell Ron and Hermione not to say anything of course, and he was sure they wouldn't. It was just that Ron might have to lie to his Dad. And that Hermione wouldn't approve of him going against Professor Dumbledore's wishes... In the end, Harry was guiltily glad that Hedwig was gone, and there was no way to contact his friends right now anyway.

Of course his luck changed already the next morning, when Errol, the Weasleys' family owl, arrived in broad daylight with a huge parcel, almost dropping it before he collapsed right on the windowsill of Harry's bedroom. Luckily the owl fell forward, into the room and not backwards. That would have been all kinds of bad. And luckily it wasn't dead either, but regained consciousness after a few minutes. And while the content of the package made Harry actually very happy, since there was a huge fruitcake in there which would secure his survival for the next week, there was also a letter from Ron, full of excitement and questions.

_You have a godfather? And you never knew about him? How strange is that? What do you guess he wants from you? Dad has not let on very much, just that Black is a really bad guy. Maybe he thinks he'll have a chance to get a pardon if you ask for it?_

Harry had no answers to these questions. Not yet. Although he sure hoped to find out about them soon. He just wasn't sure if he should tell his friend about that. He thought about Ron's idea that Black was after a pardon, but if he thought the Ministry would let a murderer go, just because he, Harry Potter, said so, the man had to be delusional. Then Harry remembered what Ron's dad had said. That the prisoners in Azkaban all went mad. So maybe Black was delusional. That thought opened up an abyss of despair inside his belly. He wasn't exactly sure why, but the idea of Sirius Black being nothing but a madman was very disconcerting. But he didn't really want to explore these feelings of disappointment that made his stomach churn.

With a sigh, Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of the pile on his desk, grabbed his quill, and paused. He felt even more reluctant now to tell Ron what he had done, but he also felt uncomfortable with lying to his friend, or not addressing the issue at all. And he also longed to have Ron in this whole godfather business with him. Scrunching up his nose, he dipped his quill in the ink and wrote.

_Dear Ron,_

_Yes, it's all very strange and mysterious. Professor Dumbledore and your Dad came here __to talk about it all with me, but they didn't tell me much either. Only that Black has killed a bunch of people and is generally bad news. Seems he killed thirteen people with one spell, but it wasn't an accident. I know that sounds really bad. Professor Dumbledore said I should just forget about it, but to be honest I'm still kind of curious. Please don't tell anyone about this, but I think I would kind of like to visit Black anyway. I mean, I don't see __what__the harm would be, you know? _

_I hope I'll be able to see you soon, and that we can go to see the World Cup. Please tell your Mum that I said thank you for the cake. _

_Harry_

After he had finished the letter, Harry stared at the parchment with a frown. He had not said that he had already contacted the Ministry, had not told Ron that he was not only thinking about such a visit, but had put the whole thing into motion already. But what if the letter got intercepted? What if Mr. or Mrs Weasley read it? He could probably tell Errol to only deliver it to Ron. Errol might be old, but he was very responsible. But it might still be better not to risk anything. Feeling just a little guilty, Harry rolled the letter up and put it aside. It was better to wait until the evening, when it was dark and Errol had had some time to rest.

~*S*~

Harry felt that pit of despair opening up in his stomach again. He had not been able to forget about what Ron and his dad had said. About the possibility that Sirius Black was crazy. Harry had tried to push it aside, but it had popped up in his head with an annoying insistance, and while he was looking at the trembling man now, he couldn't help but feel the disappointment creep inside his heart. Sirius Black for sure looked like he was not all there. Why had he wanted to come? What could this man tell him? He had lied and cheated, just to meet him, his godfather, and now he wasn't even sure he would be able to communicate with him. He felt so stupid. Maybe his uncle had been right the whole time.

~*S*~

Everything had turned out better than Harry had dared to hope. The Ministry didn't question his request, but send a reply within the next few days, confirming the appointment. He was going to be taken to Azkaban by a Ministry employee on August the 1st, for a visit with his godfather at ten o'clock in the morning. He would be able to see him for precisely one hour. There was another parchment which gave a lot of instructions. Directions how to reach the Ministry building in London from where he would be taken to Azkaban Prison, regulations at the Ministry, safety instructions for the visit itself... Visiting someone in Azkaban seemed to be rather complicated.

_... Visitors are requested to report to the Auror office at the 2nd floor, Room 24, one hour before the appointed visit._

_...Visitors cannot bring gifts and supplies which have not been approved by the Azkaban Prison Service beforehand. _

_... Visitors will be accompanied by a trained Auror throughout the visit, and are requested to stay close to him at all times, as well as listen to his instructions. Should a visitor neglect to do so, the Auror can and will cancel the visit at anytime._

_... Visitors have to hand over their wands, since they are not allowed in the vicinity of the prisoners, with the exception of the trained Aurors of the Ministry. _

_...Prisoners will be bound according to their level of security. _

Harry read it all carefully. He didn't want to make a mistake, didn't want to risk blowing the whole thing, now that he had come so far. He had not thought about it too much before, but now all these safety and security measurements made Azkaban Prison, the place where wizards send the ones they wanted to punish for their crimes, even more mysterious and unreachable.

Although the real problem would probably be getting to the Ministry building in London. Turning the parchment over, Harry looked at the directions on the back. There were three safe apparating areas close to the Ministry, which were of no use to him of course since he had no license. There was also the possibility of flooing in, but since the fireplace at the Dursleys' was not only not connected to the floo network but actually bricked up, that wouldn't work either. The Ministry also advised visitors not to travel by broom, since the danger of being seen was too high in such a populated area. But apparently the Knight Bus frequented the Ministry's visitors' entrance regularly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had taken the Knight Bus last summer, when he had tried to run away from the Dursleys', and therefore knew what was required to hail the purple triple-decker. He would have to get up rather early to be at the Ministry at nine o'clock, but then it might be better if he didn't run into Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia on the morning of the visit. You never knew what kind of last-minute nonsense they might come up with.

~*S*~

Harry turned around to Mr. Hardstone, who was watching him with a slight frown on his face.

''My friend's dad, he said that the people go mad here,'' he began, looking at the older wizard uncertainly. ''Is that true?''

The man's face didn't give much away. Just like he had throughout the whole journey so far, Mr. Hardstone lived up to his name, not showing any emotion on his calm and almost blank face. Now he gave a curt nod. ''Most prisoners start to lose their hold on reality after a while. I have never seen one who's not affected.''

''Why is that?'' Harry asked.

Mr. Hardstone looked at him with suspicious surprise. ''You don't know what the Dementors do?''

''Are they those flying things with the cloaks?'' Harry asked, unable to suppress the shudder that ran down his spine.

''Yes. They are called Dementors. They are guarding this facility.''

''And what do they do?''

''They suck out all your happy thoughts and memories, until all that is left inside your head are the worst experiences you have ever endured.''

~*S*~

Harry's birthday usually was a rather gloomy event, and it really was no exception this year. He had received a present from Ron as well as Hermione, and a birthday cake from Mrs Weasley, which once more solved the diet issue. And he was thankful for all of it. But he had still spent his birthday weeding his aunt's backyard and washing his uncle's car, and when he had eaten a large piece of his birthday cake later, he had done so in the solitude of his sparse bedroom. Alone. Just like every other birthday before.

The only thing that had been lightening his mood was the knowledge that tomorrow was the day he would travel to London and solve the mystery of his godfather. He was nervous and excited and maybe just a little bit scared. Not of the man himself, more of the possibility that he might really only want to milk Harry's popularity in the wizard world for his own purpose.

His friends had not been much help in encouraging his hopes. Ron had not said much in his birthday card, but it had been obvious that he was puzzled why Harry would want to meet with a criminal, just because the man had asked him to. Ron must have also written to Hermione, telling her about what had happened, because she had written him a long letter with his birthday present. She had reacted pretty much the way Harry had predicted.

_Harry, Ron told me all about the request from that man. You really shouldn't let it bother you! If he is a criminal I don't think you should meet with him. You'd better listen to Professor Dumbledore..._

_I think it all sounds really bad. It takes powerful dark magic to kill so many people with just one single spell. Maybe I can look into old editions of the Daily Prophet to find out more about him. Or we can look in the library when we are back at school..._

Yes, that was Hermione all right. Listen to Professor Dumbledore and if you want to know more, go and look in a book. Well, he had no intention of waiting another month until they were back at Hogwarts. Not when he could just go and ask the man himself.

_~*S*~_

Harry stared at Mr. Hardstone with wide eyes. The idea of living with just your worst memories to keep you company sounded really bad. Was that the reason for him feeling so uncomfortable, so sad and hopeless when they had first arrived?

As if Mr. Hardstone had read his mind, he said, ''You probably felt it when we arrived, although only very moderately, due to my Patronus.'' He nodded at the large silvery cat sitting close to the door. ''It shields us from their influence.''

Harry swallowed, shooting a glance at the prisoner in the next room. ''Is he... I mean, is he crazy too?''

Mr. Hardstone narrowed his eyes. ''I don't know. Although from what I've heard, Black is unusually coherent. Especially considering the long time he has been here already.'' He studied Harry blankly for a moment before he asked, ''Have you changed your mind?''

~*S*~

The morning of the 1st of August had presented itself with a dull grey sky and a light drizzle. Harry had not slept much, and had crept down the stairs with the first light of dawn. It was only five o'clock, but Harry was awfully nervous and worried that he might be too late and miss his appointment at the Ministry. He had no idea how long the journey would take, since the Knight Bus didn't seem to operate with a preassigned timetable. He had walked down the drive and positioned himself on the edge of the road, preparing to jump out of the way, since his last experience with the Knight Bus had taught him that it was driven by a short-sighted lunatic.

Full of nervous anticipation, Harry stuck out his wand arm, like he was hailing a Muggle taxi. After he had stood there for what felt like eternity, but probably was just a minute or two, feeling rather stupid, there was suddenly a loud bang and the sound of screeching wheels, and, as if out of thin air, the purple bus had appeared in front of him.

''Aye, Neville, long time no see!'' Stan Shunpike, the conductor, greeted him with a toothy grin.

There were no beds this time around, but squashy armchairs, and like the last time Stan asked him if he would like a cup of hot chocolate. But Harry felt too nervous to trust his stomach with any food or drink.

''Where are ya headed?'' Stan asked, and Harry told him his destination.

''Ministry of Magic? Whatta you need ta go there for?''

''I have an appointment at nine o'clock. Will I be able to make it? I wasn't sure how long it would take,'' Harry bit his lip nervously.

''Sure, don't ya worry, tha's no problem at all! Ain't that right Ernie?''

Ernie, in way of an answer stepped down on the gas, and propelled the bus and everything in it forward, as if it had been released from a slingshot.

~*S*~

Glancing back at the prisoner, Harry contemplated the other wizard's question. He had come so far already, it would be stupid to just turn around and go back now. And he probably wouldn't get a second chance.

He shook his head. ''No..., I want to... I want to talk to him.''

''Alright.''

Mr Hardstone turned towards the door, and the silver cat followed him closely. When he opened it, there seemed to be an icy cold breeze invading the room, and Harry could see the fluttering of a ragged, black cloak, could hear the rattling breath of one of the creatures. A moment later Harry saw the door to the next room opening. The prisoner whirled around in panic, as two of the cloaked figures entered, gliding towards him, and reaching out with long, dead-looking fingers. They grabbed him and pulled him towards one of the chairs, and only now did Harry see that it was anchored to the floor, and that there was an iron ring in front of it with a heavy chain attached. The Dementors forced Black down on the chair. He was struggling, flaying in his restraints, but the cloaked creatures had to be really strong, because they didn't even sway.

''Come on,'' Mr. Hardstone said from the doorway. ''You only have one hour.''

~*S*~

Harry had arrived at the Ministry early actually, which turned out to be a good thing, because getting through the security took longer than he would have expected. The entrance itself was in a Muggle telephone box that descended into the pavement like an elevator, and brought him down into the lobby, which was huge, with a blue and gold ceiling and a dark polished wooden floor. Then there had been the wand registry at the security desk, and only after that had he been allowed to move on to the elevators, which took him up to the second floor where the Auror office was located.

When the cubicle stopped, announcing the offices that were located on that level, Harry nearly had a heart-attack as he remembered that Mr. Weasley worked at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, which was right on this floor as well. With his heart beating like mad, Harry looked around almost sure that Ron's dad would appear in front of him at any moment, demanding what he was doing here. But, while the floor was full of busy people, Harry didn't see the familiar redhead, and quickly stalked down the long corridor, following the directions to the Auror office.

Everything went smoothly. In room 24 a middle-aged woman with a stern face but a friendly voice sat behind a desk, welcomed him, and asked him the purpose of his visit. When she heard that he had an appointment she directed him to the waiting area and told him that the Auror who was assigned to accompany him would be around shortly.

Only five minutes later Mr. Hardstone had stood in front of him, piercing him with his sharp blue eyes, and told him with an otherwise blank face to follow him.

~*S*~

And now, here he was. The door to the visitor's room opened, and Harry swallowed hard against the draught in his mouth and the butterflies in his stomach.

The man, his godfather Harry reminded himself, sat behind the table with his shackles attached to the chain and the iron ring in the floor. He looked up when Harry entered the room, and for the first time Harry could really see his face. He was shocked. Sirius Black looked awful. It wasn't so much that the man looked rough with his stubble and filthy black mane. It was that he looked like he was starving. His face was thin, and the skin stretched over sharp bones and carved into hollow cheeks. But the worst were his eyes. There was something wild in them, fear and hunger and desperation, and for a moment Harry was sure that he was really insane.

The door closed behind him, and then Harry was alone with the man. A man who, a long time ago, had been his father's best friend, and now looked like a half starved homeless madman. Harry remained standing, just one step into the room, watching the man hesitantly. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. Nothing of this experience had so far been anything he had expected or even prepared for. He wished the man would say something, but it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. He wasn't really scared. The man was bound, and Mr. Hardstone had assured him that he wasn't able to hurt him in any way. Harry didn't really think the man wanted to hurt him.

It was just that there was something very unsettling about the way those stormy silver grey eyes kept staring at him. Almost as if Harry was a ghost. And then the man opened his mouth and spoke in a raspy whisper, as if he hadn't used his voice in a long time.

''James...?''

There was a small, almost non-existent ring of hope in it, and with a painful pang in his chest Harry understood what the man must be thinking. The man thought he was his father. Harry had been told often enough how much he looked like his dad. Some strange hollow seemed to open up inside of him, a hurt that he couldn't grasp. But it was like there was a pain that he shared with this stranger, and he felt almost cruel for destroying that small ray of hope that he had seen on his face.

''N-no...'' Harry said apologetically, carefully inching closer to the table. ''I-I'm Harry. Your godson,'' he added. But the man's face was already lighting up, as if the sun was suddenly shining on his face, something that had certainly never happened in this place.

''Harry,'' Black breathed, and the way he said it, it was like that name was the key to the most wonderful place of magic. ''Harry,'' he repeated, like he had to convince himself that it was true.

The man just stared at him in wonder. It was an expression that Harry couldn't remember having seen ever before. Not directed at him.

''S-So... you're my godfather,'' Harry said finally, feeling stupid, just standing there and being stared at.

But Black just nodded, swallowing, as if he had no voice, and there were actually tears brimming in his eyes.

''I got this letter,'' Harry explained helplessly. ''It said you wanted me to come and see you.''

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he might have detected just a hint of a smile on the man's face. It had barely been there, like he didn't know how to smile really, or didn't dare.

''I've waited for so long,'' Black whispered. ''So long to see you.'' His bright eyes seemed to take in every little detail of Harry's appearance, and he reached out with one of his dirty hands, bound with heavy shackles around a bony wrist. ''You can... come closer. Won't bite.''

Taking a deep breath Harry moved forward, towards the table, and pulled out the other chair, slowly sinking down on it. He sat a little stiffly, with his hands folded in his lap, as he watched the man who looked so glad to see him.

''You don't know... how happy I am... that you came. You really came,'' Sirius Black seemed to have trouble believing this. ''You've grown so much... and you look like James, just like James... ''

Harry nodded. ''Yeah. I know. I hear that often, but I got my mother's-''

''Eyes. Lily's eyes.'' He nodded. ''Right from the beginning. You were...'' He trailed off, his gaze lingering on Harry, like he had forgotten that he had just been talking.

''So, you knew my parents, didn't you? You were their friend?''

''My family. Your parents... were my family. You...'' He stopped, staring at nothing, like he was lost in a thought. ''The last time-... the last time I saw you, you were a little baby boy. Sleeping on my lap. So many years... so many many years.''

Harry swallowed. He was feeling breathless. This was... if he was honest with himself, this was exactly what he had always wanted. Someone who knew him before he became a wizard. Some connection to a life he would have had without Voldemort. The life he should have had. He just wished it would not be a criminal, a murderer, probably a slightly insane one, who was his only chance to have that. But Harry had long since learned that good things in his life always came with a catch. The world, his world, was not a fairy tale. So he just had to find out what this one was about.

''Mr. Black,-''

''Sir-Sirius.''

The way he said it, his own name seemed to sound foreign to him.

''Sirius,'' Harry tried it out, and the man gave him one of his fleeting ghosts of a smile. ''Why did you want me to come here?''

''Needed to... needed to see you.'' Black said quietly, carefully, bowing his head and staring at the rough wooden surface of the table between them. ''All that is left... All that I have. You. I just wanted... needed to know that you are fine.'' He looked up at him again. ''Apologize.''

Harry frowned uncertainly. ''What for?''

Black's eyes widened in true surprise. He studied him for a moment and there seemed to be a million thoughts running through his mind.

''How much do you know... about why I am here?'' he asked after a long minute of silence.

Harry blushed and looked down, he didn't know why he felt so uncomfortable about it, but it felt rather rude to tell the man he was a murderer. But then he was, wasn't he?

''Just that you... killed people. Thirteen people with one spell.''

When his godfather didn't say anything else, he looked up to find the man studying him with an unreadable frown of his own.

''That is all? You don't know anything about.... the circumstances?''

Harry shook his head. ''No...'' He bit his lip, feeling uncomfortable. ''Why... why did you?''

There was still a look of incredulous surprise on the wizard's face. But there was also a kind of hesitant hope in his eyes. Harry didn't know what to make of it. The gaze of the bright silver grey eyes seemed to reach deep inside to his very soul, but it held no threat.

''If I told you...,'' his godfather began carefully, and Harry suddenly felt breathless again. The wizard's voice was filled with an urgency, like there was something incredibly important about to be revealed. But then Black hesitated. He stopped and shook his head a little, his eyes closing, as if he was berating himself. ''You have no reason to believe me,'' he whispered, and the spell was broken.

''W-what...'' Harry gawked. ''What do you mean?''

But Sirius Black just shook his head. ''I didn't want to see you to tell you my own sob story,'' he said quietly.

''Then what did you want?'' Harry asked, starting to get angry. Why was no one ever telling him anything? ''What did you want to apologize for?''

''For not keeping you and your parents safe.'' The man's voice was steadier now. ''For not being able to be there for you when you grew up.''

''Yeah, well, not like anybody else did any better, did they? After all, Voldemort was gone, so what did they care what happened to me?'' Harry spat bitterly. He knew he shouldn't say that. He knew he was being unfair and ungrateful, that they had tried to keep him safe. It was just that he never had _felt_ safe, all he ever had felt was unwanted and a bother. ''No one ever wanted me, so why would you?'' He didn't know why he had said that, he knew it didn't make any sense, he knew he sounded like a little kid, but it had just come out, and he couldn't, and wouldn't, take it back.

But he hadn't expected the reaction. Sirius Black was out of his chair, he couldn't stand up really because of the chains, but he was bowed low over the table, and his eyes were sharp and focused and serious. ''Don't you ever think that!'' he said urgently and insistently, like it was the most important thing in the world. ''Your parents loved and wanted you very much! And me too. From the first moment I laid my eyes on you, I wanted you, Harry. Wanted to protect you. To be part of your life. Be there for you. It was the happiest moment of my entire existence.''

''Then why did you go and kill all those people!'' Harry cried, trying to blink the angry tears back.

His godfather fell back on his chair. For a moment he just watched Harry with a calm and resigned sadness.

''I didn't,'' he said.

~s~

It was like a punch in the gut. Absolutely unexpected.

''What? What do you mean?''

His godfather looked down and sighed, ''I know... that there is no reason for you to believe me, and I don't expect you to, but...'' He focused those burning silver eyes on Harry, almost making him squirm from the intensity. ''I am no murderer,'' Sirius Black said, and he sounded determined. ''I have never killed anyone. That explosion, I didn't cause it.''

Harry looked at him sceptically. ''You're saying, you're innocent?'' he asked uncertainly.

''Yes. That is what I'm saying.''

Harry didn't know what to say. It sounded a little out there. Too much like something out of a bad movie. But he didn't think that Sirius Black would appreciate it if he told him that. So he just bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

''You don't believe me.''

There was no accusation, no disappointment. Black just stated it as a fact.

Harry shrugged and Black bowed his head with a soft sigh.

''Like I said... You have no reason to. But I don't have a reason to lie to you either. Won't change anything. I'm here in this hellhole for good.'' He looked up at Harry, and suddenly his face softened, and there was a real smile, a small one, but it changed the man's whole appearance. Made him look younger, and one could even imagine that he had been good-looking once. ''I just want you to know, if I would have had a choice, I would have wanted to be there. I wished things would have gone differently, Harry. But after over twelve years in here, I know that wishing doesn't get you anywhere. You don't have to believe that I'm innocent. But please believe me that you have always been wanted.''

Harry stared at the filthy prisoner sitting opposite of him. His gaunt face was open. And looking in those eyes, it did something to him. He tried to remember that he was a criminal. Whatever it was he was saying, Harry couldn't believe it, it seemed too much like those childish dreams he had had while lying in his cupboard at night. It opened up all those old wounds he had thought healed and forgotten. The longing he had felt when he saw his aunt hug and kiss his cousin when they were kids. He didn't want to admit it, but there had been a time when he wished she would hug _him_. Just now and then. Just once even. He remembered the burning pain when his uncle made a snide remark about his parents, who were strangers to him. Nothing more than the figments of his dreams. He didn't even have a photograph back then. He had now. But they remained unreachable phantoms in a mirror. He knew their faces, but he knew nothing about them. And of course he had always told himself that his parents must have loved him, would have wanted him. They were his parents. It was just the way these things worked, wasn't it? But it was different, so very different, to hear it out loud from someone who had known them, someone who had been there.

Black had been studying him calmly and in silence, while Harry fought with the turmoil inside of him, and feeling the tears rising in his eyes, tried to blink them away.

''So where did you... grow up? An orphanage?'' There was unmistakable pain in his eyes.

Harry shook his head. ''At my aunt and uncle's,'' he mumbled.

''Aunt? Who... Lily's sister?''

''Yeah.''

''She had a strange name... like a potted plant.''

''Petunia.''

Black nodded. ''But she didn't like...''

''Magic? No, she doesn't.'' It was said with audible contempt.

The silver eyes looked at him searchingly, and Harry blushed. When he had first entered the room, he had not been certain if Sirius Black was sane. Now he wondered if he was psychic in some way, he definitely seemed to see too much.

''I can imagine she would not have been too keen on raising a wizard child... but her own nephew... you were just a little baby boy... cutest little boy I have ever seen...''

The words were said carefully, questioningly, and Harry felt the eyes on him, but couldn't meet them. So he just shrugged. Standard response to all things uncomfortable.

''I never met her husband...'' There was a hint of something else in his godfather's voice now, a fear of a very different kind, that only deepened when Harry couldn't help but grimace at the mention of his uncle. ''Harry, you said... are they treating you alright? Are they-''

''They don't starve me or beat me or anything, if that's what you mean.'' Harry said in a rush. It wasn't like he was abused. His relatives just didn't like him very much. They didn't care about him, but then they had not asked for someone to drop him on their doorstep. They had not volunteered, he had been pushed upon them. ''It's just... they don't care about me-magic. And they didn't really want to take me in, but Dumbledore made them, so...'' He trailed off, not really knowing what he wanted to say. Not like he wanted to defend the Dursleys. It just... it wasn't that bad. And now he went to Hogwarts and it was just during the summer...

''Harry.'' Said with urgency. ''Are they treating you alright?''

There was no answer to that he would have felt comfortable with, so he shrugged.

For a long while neither of them said anything. And when Black finally spoke, it wasn't at all what Harry had expected.

''What about Remus?'' he asked, and there was something in his voice that Harry couldn't identify.

He frowned. ''Remus Lupin?''

Sirius eyes lit up for a moment, before he cast them down. He swallowed and then nodded. He seemed tense suddenly, more so than before.

''He was my teacher last year, at Hogwarts. Defence against the Dark Arts. But then he resigned, because word got out that he's a werewolf.'' Harry looked at the other man questioningly. ''He told me he went to school with my parents, but... what about him?''

''That's all?'' Black asked softly. ''That's all he told you?''

''Yeah. Why?''

''We were friends. We all were friends, very good friends. Even after school. But then... I just thought... thought he would have been around.''

''No. I mean, I didn't even know I was a wizard before I got my Hogwarts letter, so-''

''What?''

''You know. My aunt and uncle. They _really _don't like magic. I think they thought they could beat it out of me.''

''Beat it...?'' Sirius stared at him open mouthed and wide eyed and anguished.

''Oh, not like that, I mean not really, there might be... just when I did something to really annoy them, or they thought I did, I mean...'' Harry blushed, trying to explain. Explain that it wasn't that bad. It wasn't. He was not a baby after all. ''They just... they don't want me to talk about it. Magic and stuff. And they got really angry when I did things as a kid, like accidental magic, but I didn't even know it was me, so I thought it was really unfair, but...'' He trailed off, when the look on his godfather's face only grew more horrified. ''Look. It's not great, okay? They don't care about me. They never have. But I'm fine. I'm at Hogwarts now. I have great friends there. I don't need the Dursleys.''

He stated that last sentence with confidence, but Black looked like he had not even heard it. His hands were balled into fists, his filthy hair hanging down in his face, obscuring his starved features. He closed his eyes briefly, they were full of agony.

''I'm so sorry,'' he said quietly. ''This... it wasn't supposed to be like this.''

''Yeah, well, can't be helped.''

He knew that. Had accepted that. And when he looked at the man in front of him, he couldn't help but think that Black had gotten the worst lot in life. Harry might sometimes be hungry, but he wasn't starved. His clothes might be four sizes too big for him, but at least they kept him warm. He wasn't a prisoner. Not really. Not like Black.

There was a creaking sound and the door to the room was pulled open. Mr. Hardstone stepped into the room, eying the shackled wizard suspiciously, before he turned his eyes to Harry.

''Time's up. We need to get back now.''

''Oh. Okay. Ehm... can I...''

''One minute.''

He left the door open.

''Well,'' Harry looked at the man, his godfather, uncertainly when he got up. ''I need to get going. It was...''

''Nice to meet me?'' His godfather asked with another of those ghost smiles.

Harry shrugged, looking sheepish. ''Yeah.'' He hesitated. Absolutely without an idea how he should say goodbye. Suddenly aware that the man would remain here. In this dark, creepy tower. Probably starving and freezing. Even if he was a criminal, that didn't seem right. He really had been nice. And now... he had wanted to ask so many questions. Why hadn't he? Why hadn't he used his time better? But then it had seemed to be over so quickly.

''Harry...''

Harry turned his gaze back to the man. ''Yeah?''

''Will you... come back?''

It was a sudden and unexpected relief that flooded Harry at those words. ''You... want me to?''

''Yes.''

But... '' Why?'' Harry asked haltingly.

It was Black's time to shrug. ''You.... you must have more questions,'' he said a little hesitantly, maybe even hopefully, but that could have been Harry's imagination.

''Yeah,'' Harry nodded, once more feeling inept for not finding any better, any _more_ words, really.

''I would love to see you, Harry. You are my godson... and l-.''

''Mister Potter? We have to go now.''

Mister Hardstone sounded impatient, and Harry nodded.

''Yeah, of course, I'm- I'm coming.'' He turned to his godfather, who remained in the room, shackled and chained to the floor. ''Ehm... so... see you?''

Black smiled that small smile and gave him an encouraging nod. ''Yeah. I'll see you.''

TBC

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	3. Looms but the Horror

**News: Zaira has a homepage now. There will be news on updates, sneak peeks, story outtakes, pictures and general ranting of the author. Check it out via the link on my profile! :D**

**A/N: **I would really love to provide you with more frequent updates. As soon as us fanfiction authors are getting paid a fraction of what J.K.R. got, helping me pay my bills, it won't be a problem. But I'm not keeping my hopes up. Some feedback will encourage me to keep on writing anyway though! :)

Many thanks to my dear Sundance, otherwise known as jogger, for holding my hand through the ups and downs, encouraging me and cheering me up when I felt like I would never be able to write one decent line again. Yes, there are times like that.

This is un-beta-ed so far. My dear beta had a more pressing engagement and couldn't make it, but I didn't want to leave you hanging. All mistakes are mine and hopefully temporary. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3 - Looms but the Horror **

_Cold. Cold. Cold. So cold. It's so cold. Always cold. But there was... He was here. Harry. He was here. My Harry. Harry. Harry. He was... wasn't... wanted him... happy... should have been happy. All I ever wanted. My fault. All my fault. James. James... James. Lily. All my fault. I'm so sorry... so sorry...should have protected... should have died. For you. My fault. All my fault. Harry. He was here. He came. Didn't he? Was he? He was here. No, no, he was here. Saw him. Won't forget him. Need to protect him. Need to... need to... so cold. It's so cold. Harry. It's so cold._

~*S*~

Coming back had been like slowly rising from a dream while the world around him returned to reality in a rush. Like waking up from a nightmare without the waking up part. It all seemed to take no time at all. The walk down the grey stone corridor, the boat trip across the high crashing waves, even getting squeezed through a too tight space when apparating back to the Ministry. What had been an endless journey of trepidation on his way to meet his godfather, flew past Harry without him even realizing it. He only became aware of it when he was back at the Ministry, back where he started only about two hours ago. Two hours ago in what felt like a whole different lifetime.

And all the time Harry had not been able to think of anything else but Sirius Black. The mysterious wizard with the intense eyes and starved features, who was his godfather, and had known him as a baby, and whom nobody ever told him about. Sirius Black, who remained back in the tower, where he was forever trapped in the cold, with the cloaked figures sucking out all happiness from everyone around them. With every step he took away from the room with the stone walls where his godfather had sat, shackled, the wizard prison seemed crueler and darker and more unreal. Harry couldn't shake the guilty feeling of having left him in such a place, even though he knew very well that he couldn't do anything to change that. It was Sirius' punishment for his crimes. For the murders.

Sirius Black was a murderer.

He had almost forgotten that when he had been sitting across from him. Sirius Black had made him forget about a lot of things. But even now that he guiltily remembered that the man was a criminal, it seemed too cruel to lock him away in a place like that. He couldn't forget the fear written on the wizard's face when the cloaked figures had taken hold of him. He couldn't forget the gaunt look and the bloody feet. And even more, he couldn't forget the awe and the amazement in the silver grey eyes, apparently for the simple fact that he, Harry, had come to see him. He wondered why Professor Dumbledore had been so insistent that he shouldn't meet Sirius. Nothing about him had seemed dangerous or vicious. He had not been at all like Harry imagined a murderer to be or to act and talk.

_He said he didn't do it._

Yeah. Sirius had said that. And a part of Harry wanted to hold on to it and believe it. But another part wished the strange wizard had not made such a claim. An explanation, that might have been a different matter. Maybe if there had been an explanation, maybe then there would have been a chance that it wasn't so bad. If there were circumstances... Although he couldn't think of any circumstances where killing thirteen people on purpose was kind of okay.

And then, in the end, Sirius had asked him to come back, and he wasn't sure whether he should, and he wasn't sure why he wanted to. And he had no idea why now, when he was back at the Ministry, back in the real world, he felt more alone and lost than ever before.

They were back in the Apparition Room, and apparently Mr. Hardstone's job was done with that, because he only gave a curt nod towards Harry, and then turned around to walk out the door. Only when he realized that Harry was still standing in the middle of the room, not making any attempts to move, he turned back to him.

''You know how to get back?'' he asked impatiently and Harry nodded silently.

So the man was already half way down the corridor when something else occurred to Harry. ''Wait!'' he called, running after him. ''Please!''

Mr. Hardstone stopped, turning back to Harry with his eyebrows raised in a questioning frown.

''If- if I want to go back,'' Harry asked, watching the tall man hesitantly. ''What... do you know what I have to do? If I want to go and... if I want to visit again?''

The wizard's frown deepened as he studied Harry through narrowed eyes. ''Seems he still got it,'' he said in distaste.

Harry stared at him in confusion. ''Ehm, what?''

''Never mind,'' Mr. Hardstone shook his head. ''If you want to visit Black regularly, you have to go to the Prison Service down the corridor, where I picked you up this morning. They can grant a visit every two weeks for family members. Not that anyone would be crazy enough to do that.''

''W-what do you mean?'' Harry asked uncertainly.

''Kid, you have been the first visitor to go to Azkaban in at least two years. Normally people are not too keen to acknowledge their criminal relatives. Never mind going to that place to see them.''

''B-but I can...?''

''Yeah. If you are so hell bend to visit a damn Death Eater, you can!'' Mr. Hardstone shot Harry a glare and then he brusquely turned away and walked off.

~s~

It had been surprisingly easy, Harry thought when he was back on the Knight Bus, trying to hold on to his seat while the bus jumped and swayed and broke every road traffic regulation in England. The witch had only looked at him curiously, and then had handed him a form and a purple information sheet, and told him that he would have to call ahead at least two days before a visit. So if he wanted to, he could go back in two weeks. If he wanted to. Which was the problem.

Harry wasn't sure what he wanted. Or maybe it was that what he wanted and what he knew he _should_ want were not the same thing. Being back in what felt like the more real world, he wasn't sure what to think about the man who was his godfather. He felt bad for him, yeah, but that didn't mean that he was going to trust him. He wished he had more information on Sirius Black but no one had so far been very forthcoming. Harry kept pondering the question how he could find out more about his godfather for the whole journey, but he couldn't really come up with a solution.

It was strange stepping of the bright purple bus in front of Number four Privet Drive when magical transportation seemed so very much out of place in the proper Muggle neighborhood. Harry could see that the lights were on in the living-room and for a moment he hesitated, wondering how he could sneak in without his aunt and uncle noticing, and whether that would get him around explaining about non-existing doctor's exams.

He had made it up half the way of the stairs when his uncle stuck out his head through the living-room door.

''Hey, boy!'' he bellowed. ''What is it now!''

''Don't worry!'' Harry said hastily, ''I won't explode!'' and vanished up the staircase towards his room, before his uncle could get another word in.

When the door had fallen shut behind him, Harry leaned back against it, breathing out heavily. His first sensation was relief. Relief that he had made it back, and nothing had gone really wrong, and that even now he couldn't hear the heavy footsteps of his uncle on the stairs. But when he opened his eyes again and looked around the room there was a feeling of disillusion.

He suddenly realized how sparse the room was, how impersonal. There were no bars at the window anymore but he still felt constricted. It some way it was still a cell. Dull and unwelcoming, with furniture that was ugly and old and made up out of the stuff the Dursleys didn't want anymore. Just like they didn't want _him_. He had always lived with that knowledge, and it had become so much of his normality that he didn't really think about it anymore. It was just a fact of life, like that the sky was blue and that Professor Snape was a git. But now... now that he knew that things had been supposed to be different, that there had been another life, a real one, that had been taken away from him, now the room and the house he had been dutifully coming back to each summer, felt just as much as a prison than the one he had just left.

Like some mysterious magical pull, or maybe it was just his subconscience, his eyes were drawn to his open trunk and the small leather album that was laying on top of a pile of clothes. Pushing himself away from the door he picked the book up and sank down on the bed with one of his most valuable treasures on his knees. He stared at it for a moment before he opened it to the first page and a photograph he knew all too well. A photograph of his parents, forever young. His father was swirling his mother around in a circle, both of them laughing and happy and alive.

_''James...''_

Suddenly Harry wondered who had taken the picture. Who had been the person behind the magical camera, probably laughing along with them? Had Sirius taken some of these pictures? He had been his father's best friend, they must have been together a lot. Quickly Harry started to turn the pages, until he suddenly stopped frozen at the sight of a picture of his parents wedding. He had not lingered on this one too much before. He liked those pictures better where his parents concentrated more on the photographer and less on each other. And he had never payed much attention to the man next to them. But now that stranger had a familiar face. It still took Harry a second look to be sure. Fifteen years had passed since the moment in the photograph. Sirius had been so much younger and had not spend half his life in prison. The difference was so overwhelming that it hurt. Sirius must have been the same age as his parents. Twenty, and handsome, and full of joy and happiness and life. And for a second Harry wondered what his own life would have been like, if he had grown up with this man. Whether there would have been the same joy and laughter. Harry stared at the picture for a long time. He couldn't comprehend how this smiling man had become a murderer.

~s~

The thought had not been letting go of him for the next days. Days that were spend with weeding and cleaning and cooking and being largely ignored. It was no difference to other summers, if anything the Dursleys were bothering him less, but he felt bored and frustrated and angry to be stuck at this place, and most of all he felt lonely. He missed his friends. He wished he could talk to Ron and Hermione, and in his most honest moments he wished he could talk to Sirius.

So it was one evening after dinner while he was doing the dishes in the kitchen, only listening with half an ear to the news that were running on the television in the living-room, talking about some catastrophe or other somewhere far away in another country, that it occurred to him. Even if all the people he knew where not willing to tell him more about his godfather, there must be information somewhere on a murder case where a single person had killed thirteen people in one strike. Newspapers would cover such a thing, wouldn't they? Maybe even the Daily Prophet? Was there any means to get a hold of such old issues of the wizard paper, or any paper at all? Frustrated he tossed the rag in the sink. How he hated to be stuck here! He couldn't go anywhere looking for information. It was always the same, wasn't it? But maybe someone else could...

It didn't take a genius to think of Hermione. Hermione _loved _reading up on things. She would happily move into the Hogwarts Library if Dumbledore or Madam Pince would allow it. So Hermione would probably be glad to help him if he could convince her that he wasn't trying to break any rules. And really, he wasn't, he was perfectly entitled to do this. What ever this was what he was doing. Getting to know his godfather, he supposed.

So that night Harry sat down and wrote another letter, explaining to Hermione how he would like to know more about the man who was his godfather and what he had done. He asked her if she thought it was possible to get any information on him, and, only feeling slightly guilty, finished with a remark on how bored and frustrated he was, and how he wished he could see her and Ron soon or at least talk to them. It wasn't like that was a lie.

It only took two days before Harry held Hermione's answer in his hands.

_Dear Harry,_

_of course I will help you! You can order old issues of the Daily Prophet, I found out in second year when we tried to find more information about the Chamber of Secrets, but they hushed it all up and there were no newspaper articles on that. There is also a pretty well stacked Muggle library close to my parents and I will go have a look there too. I will be visiting my grandparents for a few days, but I get on it as soon as I am back. _

_But, Harry, you have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid! I know you, you are thinking about going and visiting Black, aren't you? I don't think that's a good idea, Harry! If Professor Dumbledore didn't want you to meet him, he must have his reasons. He is probably a really horrible man!_

_I do hope to see you soon too. And Ron, of course. I guess we'll meet at the Weasleys later this summer. I send you a letter when I've found out more about Black. _

_Take care,_

_Hermione _

Harry stared at the letter with a puzzled frown. Hermione was really too damn observant. Fortunately she didn't know that he already hadgone to see Sirius, nor that he was very much planning to do it again...

Harry still had not told his two best friends. It wasn't that he didn't trust them. It was just... both Hermione and Ron had a family, they just didn't really understand what it was like for Harry. And this was just about him. It was his decision. And he had made it. After days of brooding, Harry had made up his mind. What he really wanted was to find out more about his godfather. All he had right now were pieces of a puzzle. Pieces that did neither match nor show a picture of the mysterious wizard who looked at him like Harry was... _precious._

He was glad that Hermione was helping him to gather information, but he reckoned that the best way to learn more would be from the source itself. When he had said goodbye, and Sirius had asked him to come back, he had assumed that Harry had more questions, had practically offered to answer them. It would be stupid to not seize that opportunity. So all he needed to do was send word to the Ministry, sneak out without the Dursleys noticing, and go to Azkaban again. Piece of cake.

~s~

It was what helped him survive the next week. He had send Hedwig to the Ministry with his request on the same evening, and now the letter from the Prison Service confirming the visit was hidden underneath the mattress, burning a whole into the lumpy thing.

The Dursleys were harder to take than ever during these days, although Harry wasn't sure why that was so. He had been used to taking whatever crap they threw at him with a dull resignation for years. Occasionally, when the nagging and sneering and insulting had become too much or had hit a sensitive spot like Harry's parents, Harry would have blown up. Then there would have been words and sometimes yelling, and he'd be confined to his room for a day until Uncle Vernon realized that Harry did most of the work around the house. It was just the way things were, and Harry didn't dwell on it anymore.

But now, since he had learned about his godfather and went to meet him, it was almost as if he had taken a step away from it all, as if he was a spectator in his own life, and it... _hurt_.

The dull days of not being able to talk to anyone. The cold contempt alternating with hot fury and silent disregard. And he didn't _like_ the Dursleys, he didn't _want_ them talking to him, but he wanted _someone_.

Harry had seldom felt so alone. Had seldom felt such a need for someone to talk to, someone who was on _his _side. There were Ron and Hermione of course, but they were far away, and owl post took ages, and then... Harry was afraid that they wouldn't understand. And he didn't want them to pity him either. Hermione's parents were Muggles, but they were awfully nice people who seemed to have no problem at all with their daughter being a witch or with her staying in contact with the magical community during the holidays. Hermione was always excited to go home and see them at the end of the term, and then came back full of stories of some holiday trip or another. Ron's parents might not have the money for travelling, apart from their trip to Egypt last year that was, but Ron spend his summer playing Quidditch with his brothers, lazing around and maybe now and then degnoming the garden, something he moaned about but that was actually fun in Harry's book.

Each year when he stepped on the Hogwarts Express at the end of the school year, it was like he was suddenly set apart from all his friends who were chatting cheerfully, making plans for the long free weeks of summer. Harry felt more glum and depressed the closer they got to their destination. If he could, he would have gladly skipped the summer holidays all together. At King's Cross they took their leave with encouraging words to keep his chin up and promises to write, and Harry smiled to dismiss all worries while inside he felt as if heavy weights were settling on his shoulders. But it was what it was. He had no choice and no way to get out of it. But he still watched the other students go, with a spring in their step, feeling envious and secretly, maybe, just a little begrudging.

~s~

Even though time had been moving like molasses, the day of his next visit had finally come. He had known that he couldn't claim another doctor's visit without the Dursleys becoming suspicious, and they wouldn't just let him take off to London as he pleased either. So the only possibility was to sneak out without them noticing.

The perfect day for that, or so Harry thought, would be the upcoming Saturday. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been talking about an invitation to some fancy golf club from a client of his uncle for the past two weeks, and his aunt was all occupied with deciding what kind of outfit was appropriate while Dudley had been whining about not wanting to go.

On the day Harry had been increasingly nervous, waiting for his aunt and uncle to leave. This time he could estimate how long it would take him to get to the Ministry, and he knew that he wouldn't have to leave in the early hours of the morning. But if the Dursleys didn't get going soon, he would be cutting it rather close. Also, Dudley had got his way, and was staying home. Harry just hoped he would be too engrossed in his video games to take notice of Harry's absence. Anyway, he wasn't going to back out now. He had been eagerly waiting for this day all week. He was getting out of the house, he was going to see his godfather again, and he wouldn't let anything, least of all the Dursleys, stop him.

When the door had shut behind his relatives, Harry had listened to the noise of the car engine fading, and the next moment he'd been out on the street, jogging down towards the park where he might look less conspicuous flagging down a purple triple decker. Luckily, it was a rainy day, and the only person he saw was Mrs Figg from down the street, and only from afar. Harry breathed a sigh of relieve when Ernie set the bus in motion, and only listened with half an ear to Stan babbling about Hungary sweeping France of the pitch in the preliminaries.

~s~

Harry reached the Prison Service Office just in time, and was surprised to see a pretty blonde woman turning towards him, holding out her hand for him to shake.

''You must be Harry Potter. It's an honour of course,'' she said with a warm smile. ''I'll be accompanying you today.''

She was much more talkative than Mr. Hardstone had been, and also more impressed by Harry's supposed fame, something that always made him uneasy. It was strange to be famous for something you couldn't even remember and, really, it wasn't like he had _done _anything that night. If anything his parents had been heroes, not him.

When they arrived on the little island close to the prison and entered the boat, the blonde witch too conjured a silver animal, but this time it was a large horse trotting along over the waves, its long mane fluttering in the wind. Harry stayed close to it when they reached the main island. The sight of the Dementors alone made him shudder inside.

He was brought down the same dark corridor, but this time they passed by the first wooden door, the blonde Auror immediately went for the one that led to the room he had met Sirius for the first time two weeks ago.

''There you are,'' she said, looking him over with a concerned face. ''When ever you want to stop, or you need my help, you just have to call. I will be waiting right here.''

Harry ducked his head. He knew she meant well, but right now he would have rather foregone the reminder that everyone thought of his godfather as a dangerous criminal. So he just smiled at her and nodded, trying to convey to her that she didn't have to worry.

And then the door opened and Harry caught the first sight of his godfather, once more sitting at the wooden table, shackled to the floor.

~s~

Sirius looked up when Harry entered, startled, hopeful, a myriad of emotions on his face. And then there was a real, a true smile spreading out over his features, turning the wild looking prisoner into a person, a man Harry was becoming desperate to know. The smile, as small as it was, extended a warmer welcome than Harry could remember to have ever received, and that shouldn't be possible in a place like Azkaban.

''Harry.''

Once more, his name was spoken like it held a promise.

''Hey,'' Harry said only a little embarrassed, and came shuffling forward to sit opposite his godfather who looked him over, his eyes drinking him in.

''I'm so glad that you came back,'' Sirius said, and his voice was quiet but clear, and when Harry studied him, he thought that he looked... better. Not well, not that. He was still painfully thin and awfully dirty. But the light in his eyes was bright and alive, and so intoxicating that Harry couldn't help but smile back.

''Well,... we didn't have much time to talk last time,'' he said uncertainly. ''You said you could tell me more, answer my questions...''

''I will if I can. And I hope you will tell me more as well. About you. I want to know everything about you Harry. In all those years...I have missed so much.''

Harry shrugged shyly. ''There's not so much to tell. I'm... I'm not so special, even if everybody seems to think so. I'm pretty ordinary.''

''I doubt that very much,'' Sirius said and his voice was dry.

''I am! It's just that stupid Voldemort stuff that has all the people gawking at me. Which is silly, because I was only a baby when he vanished, and I can't even remember it.''

Harry had noticed that Sirius unlike most people he knew had not flinched at the name of the Dark Wizard. His godfather leaned back a little and looked him over with a gentle expression.

''You are very special Harry. But not just because you defeated Voldemort. You are a very special boy just because of _who_ you are. Harry. What do you think how many fourteen year old boys would have the courage to come here, to this place, to meet a godfather they can't remember having ever met?''

''Hermione would probably say that makes me stupid, not courageous,'' Harry mumbled.

And Sirius Black laughed. It was just a short, barking sound, but it was a laugh and it seemed to come from somewhere deep, deep down and long forgotten. It was the most amazing thing ever.

''Sounds like a girl with her head straight on,'' Sirius said with a sparkle in his eyes. ''Who is she?''

''One of my best friends,'' Harry explained with a grin of his own. ''Hermione Granger. She is really clever, the best in our year, and she has a knack for rules. Or for not breaking them.''

''Which is something you do often?'' Sirius asked amused.

Harry blushed a little. ''Now and then. There are circumstances!''

''Ah, yes, those...,'' Sirius nodded, and there was still a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ''Your father and I were not too keen on rules either to be honest.''

''What did you do?'' Harry asked curiously.

''Oh, many things. Exploring mostly. And not always where we were supposed to explore, and often at times when we were supposed to lie sleeping in our beds in the first place. We were-'' Sirius faltered, his face grew tense, and he closed his eyes with an almost desperate expression.

Gripping the table, Harry leaned forward. ''What is it?'' he asked worriedly.

Sirius shackled hands balled into fists. ''It's... they... I'm trying to... remember,'' he whispered. He opened his eyes again, and there was a pain or sadness that he seemed to be trying to hide.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

''It is difficult sometimes,'' Sirius explained quietly. ''The Dementors... you have seen them, haven't you?''

Harry nodded.

''They exist... what they do is... they live on other people's emotions and... memories, but only the happy and joyful ones. They suck all that out of you, and... it gets difficult... to remember the good times. Like back then, when your father and I were young and carefree and happy. It becomes... fleeting and washed out.''

Harry stared at Sirius horror-struck. He didn't have all that many _really_ happy memories, but the few that he had were precious to him. When he was stuck at the Dursleys during the summer, he would lie in bed at night and replay them again and again. Flying over the hills around Hogwarts, catching the snitch in an important match, laughing with Ron and Hermione, their first trip to Hogsmeade Village... that sort of thing. If he would lose that, and if he would have no possibility to ever leave his prison to fly and laugh and eat tons of Honeyduke's chocolates again, if he wouldn't be able to make new memories, that must be the worst nightmare ever. And that must be what it was like for Sirius.

''Maybe... if you tell me more,... maybe then it will come back,'' he said with desperate hope.

''Maybe,'' Sirius said with a soft, sad little smile. ''And I will have the memory of you, of telling you about it. At least for a while.''

~s~

Sirius had resumed to tell him stories, and sometimes it seemed that he had to try hard to get it together, and sometimes it was easier. He told him about the Marauders, which was the name they had given themselves when they were attending Hogwarts back then, Sirius and his father, and apparently Remus Lupin. Huh. Professor Lupin had never said anything about it, never even explained that he had indeed been such close friends with Harry's father. The three of them sounded a lot like he and Ron and Hermione.

''I so have to tell my friend Ron all about this,'' Harry exclaimed excitedly. ''And then we will have to go and explore those secret passages! Is there really one that leads to Honeydukes?''

Sirius nodded. ''There is. But don't let Filch catch you, or there will be hell to pay. I really wish we hadn't lost our map to him. That one was really helpful.''

''What map?''

''The Marauder's Map. We made it ourselves. It showed the whole grounds of Hogwarts. But the best was, that it also showed every person in the school, and where that person was. It was really useful if you wanted to sneak around the teachers.''

''What happened to it?''

''It got confiscated by Filch in our last year. He didn't know what it was, because you could only read it if you said the password, but he probably had a feeling that it was something sneaky.'' He smiled. ''We had a certain reputation.''

''Wow, I wish _we _had such a thing. That would be awesome. Although my dad's cloak is really useful as well, but there were a few times when I was close to running into a teacher.''

''You have your dad's invisibility cloak?'' Sirius asked with a strange look.

''Yeah. Dumbledore gave it to me in my first year.''

''Did he... I had wondered where it had got to...''

''So my dad already had it in school?''

''Yes. It's a family heirloom. It has been in your family for a long time and got handed down from one Potter to the next.''

''Oh, I didn't know that it is so old. I don't know much about the family of my father.''

''The Potters are one of the oldest wizard families. Even older than the Blacks. But they were always good and righteous people, not like my family.''

''What's about your family?'' Harry asked with a frown.

''The Blacks have a reputation of Pureblood fanaticism and meddling in the Dark Arts.''

''Oh...''

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. That sounded awfully like the Malfoys to be honest. He didn't want Sirius to be like that. ''My friend, Hermione, is Muggle-born,'' he said after a moment, looking at the other wizard firmly, waiting for a reaction.

Sirius nodded. ''I guessed as much. Granger is not a name I came across in wizard society before.''

Harry bit his lip.

Sirius cocked his head to the side. ''I think Muggleborns are no different from Pureblood or Halfblood witches and wizards. If anything, they are better equipped to succeed because they combine the best of both worlds. Pureblood families are often stuck in the past. They are lazy and depend too much on their status and fortunes they didn't earn themselves. They think they are preserving wizard society, but what they really do is restrain it from developing.'' Harry felt a deep relief hearing those words from the wizard, and it probably showed in his expression, because Sirius smiled knowingly. ''I was a bit of a Black Sheep in my family. Or maybe a white one if you think about it.''

Harry looked at him sheepishly. ''It's not that I thought-''

''It's perfectly alright, Harry. I know I'm not in a position that evokes trust exactly.''

He wasn't. He was a criminal in a high security prison. So why was it that Harry was so sure that everything the other wizard said was true, and even more, heartfelt? He didn't know why, but if he was honest with himself, he _did _trust Sirius. Probably more than any other adult he knew.

''So what about your other friend? Ron?'' Sirius asked, changing the topic to something lighter, and Harry wasn't sure if he did it for his own or Harry's sake.

''Ron Weasley,'' Harry confirmed.

''Ah, a Weasley. Now, there you have a really unconventional Pureblood family. It seems like you have made a good choice with your friends. I'm very glad to see that.''

A shadow passed over the black-haired wizard's face, a sadness, that Harry couldn't place once more. Maybe, he thought, Sirius was just sad because he had to think of his own friends, Harry's parents, who, as far as Harry had gathered from listening to his godfather, must have meant an awful lot to him.

''Yeah... Ron is a great friend,'' Harry said, feeling a bit hesitant. Sometimes the other wizard seemed so... breakable. ''His whole family is really nice. They've let me stay for a few days over the summer before, and this year his dad has got tickets for the Quidditch World Cup! Hopefully I'll be able to go stay with them later this month.''

Sirius eyes lit up. ''Quidditch... do you... you like Quidditch?'' And there was eager and hopeful in his voice.

''Sure,'' Harry nodded happily. ''I had no idea about it before I came to Hogwarts of course, but I still got to join the house team in my first year.'' He blushed. That had sounded a bit like he was awfully full of himself. ''I mean, they were looking for a seeker pretty badly, ever since Charlie Weasley had left two years previously, so...''

''You made the house team in first year!'' Sirius asked incredulously. ''Oh, he would have been so proud... he would have been prancing, is what he would have been...''

''You mean, my dad?'' Harry asked eagerly. ''I know that he played, but...''

''He was in love with Quidditch. The only thing he loved more was Lily. And later you.'' Sirius smiled. ''We both played for Gryffindor in our time. He was Chaser. I was Beater. But James... he was crazy about it, even more than I was. Flying and playing... I guess it was in his blood. And he would have loved it, that you are taking after him.''

''And my Mum?''

''She... tolerated it. She never used to be a big fan, but I guess she couldn't ignore James' enthusiasm, so... she let us boys have our fun. Lily was wonderful like that. She had the biggest heart, she...'' He swallowed. ''She was wonderful, your Mum.''

Horrified, Harry felt the tears rising in his eyes, and he looked down quickly, trying to blink them away.

''Don't,'' Sirius said softly, ''don't feel ashamed for being sad. I've cried a river for James and Lily, and they deserved every single tear. It's true, they wouldn't want you to dwell in misery, but it's okay to be sad that they died, and that you couldn't spend more time with them. It's the cruelest thing of all, that they loved you so much, and you had so little time together.''

The tears spilled then, running down over his cool cheeks, salty and warm. And then he felt something cold and rough touching his hand, and he looked down to see the dirty fingers of his godfather closing gingerly around his own. And he didn't mind the grime. He could only stare at their hands, thinking that this man felt the same, that he wasn't just sad _for _him, but _with _him. It made all the difference.

''Always remember, Harry, you are _very_ special. Your parents were great and talented wizards, and they were good people with good hearts. You have inherited that from them. I know it, because I can see so much from both of them in you.''

''Y-You do?'' Harry asked hopefully, sniffing a little.

''Oh, yes. It's like James and Lily are alive in you. And they loved you, more than anything. That's what makes you special. Just like you are special to me.'' He swallowed, and then added more quietly, ''because I love you just as much.''

It was a feeling Harry couldn't have described. It was like flying on his broom with the wind in his hair. It was like the best Honeydukes chocolate, only better. It was like being told that you are a wizard and you won't have to stay in a cupboard any longer. It was like seeing his parents smile at him for the first time. It was all of that, and so much more. Because it weren't only the words. They were reflected in Sirius' eyes. He meant it. He really meant it.

Harry swallowed. His bottom lip trembled.

With a screeching sound the door to the room was pulled open, and the blonde woman stepped in. ''I'm sorry, but we're already overdue. We really have to go back now.''

''What! No! I-... not yet! I need-'' Harry looked at his godfather desperately, but Sirius only lightly squeezed his hand, before he let go.

''It's alright,'' he said gently. ''You can always come back. We will see each other again.''

''But I wanted to-''

''Next time, okay? Just don't forget what I have told you.'' Sirius looked at him imploringly.

''Okay...''

He felt dazed when he stood up and walked to the door. He cast a last look back at his godfather who gave him an encouraging smile. And then the door fell shut behind him, cutting him off from what felt like the only source of warmth in his life.

~s~

The blonde Auror had rushed Harry out through the winding corridors. She seemed to be in a hurry to leave the dreary prison, and apparently the Dementors were getting impatient to get back to their prey. Harry's stomach flipped when he thought about it. He didn't want those creatures to hurt his godfather. He wished he could have stayed longer. He hadn't even had the time to say goodbye properly, and while he would come back, of course he would, that had to wait for another incredibly long two weeks. And then, after that, he would be back at Hogwarts. And how would he be able to get away for a visit then?

He didn't want to stop seeing his godfather. He wanted to talk with Sirius more, wanted to know so much more about the wizard who, only a month ago, Harry hadn't even known existed. But Sirius had known about him. For all those years, Sirius had known about him and _cared _about him.

The visiting hour had been over too quickly again, and, although he had intended to, Harry had not asked anything further about Sirius' crimes, about the murders he was supposed to have committed. Sirius had wanted to know all about Harry, and Harry had been happy to oblige. And he had loved hearing about his parents. It was just that time had been running away. There was so much to ask and learn.

That Sirius had been a Gryffindor and played Quidditch at Hogwarts as well, together with Harry's dad. That they had been best friends with Professor Lupin, and that they had not exactly walked the straight and narrow all the time. He had learned that Sirius' was at odds with his family, who were all about tradition and Pureblood fanaticism and had a reputation of practicing the Dark Arts.

And then... Sirius had said that Harry was special. To his parents. And to him. Just because he was Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived. Just Harry. His heart leapt in his chest, when he remembered his godfather looking at him, saying those words. He closed his eyes, and he gripped the rail of the boat tightly.

Sirius had said that he loved Harry.

No one had ever said that to him before...

And Harry only wanted to concentrate on the warm feeling in his chest, trying to hold on to it for as long as possible.

When they had reached the little island again, the blonde Auror held out her arm and told Harry to grab it, so that they could appartate back. He reached for it, and a moment later felt the suction and the ground dissolving, and then they were spat out back at the Ministry, in the grey room they had come from. They stepped out into the corridor, and Harry was just about to bit the friendly witch goodbye, when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye.

A man with a long white beard and a flowing cloak in blue and purple rose from a chair, exuding an air of absolute calm and authority. Harry's eyes widened.

''P-P-Professor Dumbledore,... Sir... what... what are you doing here?'' he stammered.

''Hello Harry,'' the headmaster said gravely, and the disappointment that met Harry in the stern blue eyes made him bow his head and cast his eyes to the ground. ''Is there anything that you would like to tell me?''

Harry bit his lip. It didn't look like he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

TBC

* * *

**This is where your opinion is wanted and needed, dear readers. **

**Please review!**

**A quick word of thanks: **Thank you so much to all of you who gave encouragement, criticism and support for the last chapter! Thanks to my anonymous supporters: **Hannah Hughes, D, Blah, cleofine_cat, Kristen **_(who made me blush)_**, ana** _(a great cheerleader minus the pom-poms and skimpy skirt) _, **Wulfweard** _(who called me tarantinoesque!)_, **Bluemoon** _(who always gets it, thank you!)_ and **HebHibHob** _(who doesn't feel very anonymous anymore ;) - I hope this was quick enough to save old ladies from imaginary cookies throwing monsters, lol! Don't throw them, darling, give them to me, they are otherwise known as reviews! :)_


	4. Bludgeonings of Chance

**A/N: **Okay, no one likes lengthy author's notes, but there are a few things I need to say...

First, I know this took ages, and I am truly sorry. I got stuck near the end and couldn't get anything done for weeks. Insomnia, stress, exhaustion and working my way through and around canon took their toll. So I can only hope that you are still with me! Rest assured that I won't abandon this story!

Secondly, this is a story about Harry & Sirius. But since the story is largely out of Harry's POV, probably not _all _chapters will have Sirius in person, but in the end it is all about him! ;)

Last, this is un-beta-ed due to virus problems of my wonderful beta, ambush99, but the edited version will be up soon. I was just so happy I got this finished I wanted it up and you able to read it!

Like always, thanks goes to my comrade in arms, **jogger**, who always believes in me, and **YOU**, dear faithful and supportive readers, who stick with me and make it worth all the effort!

Thank you everybody who reviewed! I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, on the other hand some might have got double replies! I was truly swept away by your support! Also: Thank you, dear anonymous readers: _Blah, HebHibHob, D, Anonymous, ana, Lauren, Bluemoon, xXAbIdFaNgIrLxX, Wulfweardy, Blakky Star and anigurl28_!

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Bludgeonings of Chance**

_James? I'm cold. I know. So cold... You have to hold on. Padfoot... you hear me? You have to hold on. For Harry. I know... I promised. Promised to protect him. I will, James, I'll do anything... I just... I just... it's so cold. You can do this. Remember. They can't conquer your soul. Remember, Padfoot. They can't... You are the master of your fate. I am... I am the captain... captain of my soul..._

-xoSox-

_''Is there anything that you would like to tell me?'' _

No. If Harry was honest there wasn't much he wanted to tell his stern looking headmaster. On the other hand there was a lot of questions he would have like to ask the old man himself, but he was pretty sure that Professor Dumbledore would not take well to that.

''Ehm...'' Harry said again, not very intelligently, but bereft of any good explanation for his actions that he felt comfortable sharing with the tall white-haired wizard, who just kept studying him, all calm and serious.

''I... went to... I mean, you probably know already, don't you?'' he finally tried. ''That I went to see Sirius?'' Harry thought there had been an almost imperceptible little twitch in the Professors face at the mentioning of his godfather's name, but he couldn't be sure. ''I- I know you didn't really want me to, but there wasn't any need to worry, really... He was great! I mean, very nice, and... we just talked and...''

Looking in the face of his professor, which had grown more and more grave, Harry somehow got the feeling that this wasn't helping.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. ''I really wish you would have listened to me Harry. I don't know what Sirius Black has told you, but please consider what kind of person, and in what kind of positon he is. He is a criminal who has done horrible things, and he will lie to you as easy as it is to breath if he thinks it will be to his advantage. I know that he can be very charming, but you can not trust him. Do you understand that Harry?''

''Yeah, but...''

''Do you trust me, Harry?''

Now that was a mean question. ''Y-yeah...'' Harry said hesitantly, because he honestly couldn't say that he did _not _trust Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore had always been kind to him, had always had his best interest at heart, hadn't he? The headmaster raised a surprised eyebrow at Harry's tone. ''I do,'' Harry hastily asseverated.

''Then I ask you to trust me on this. I have known Sirius Black a lot longer than you. And I wouldn't have asked you to ignore his request if I had not good reason to worry about your well-being and safety. I'm sure you agree that recklessly risking that, risking your own life in extend, is not the best way to honour your mother's sacrifice.''

Harry lowered his head. He wished Professor Dumbledore would just scold him or punish him and get it over with. But he never did. He always only looked at Harry with this sad and disappointed face that made Harry feel even worse. He felt ungrateful and stupid. And there was just a tiny little voice inside of him, that dared to ask him why he felt so guilty, and whether he really regretted having gone to Azkaban. Well, okay, so maybe he didn't regret it really, not the fact that he had met his godfather. But on the other hand, he had lied, and that was bad, and Professor Dumbledore had good reason to be disappointed and even angry. He should probably have told the headmaster that he wanted to visit Sirius, should have asked him to allow it. But, the tiny little voice insisted, Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed it. Because it wasn't safe. And immediately another bout of guilt settled in Harry's stomach. His mother had died to save him and Dumbledore was right, when he said that risking his own life was no way to pay her back for that. But, the tiny little voice spoke up again, have you really been in danger? Do you really think that Sirius is dangerous? Well, Dumbledore did. And Harry had not openly objected to his Professors declaration. But deep down inside, Harry disagreed. Deep down inside, Harry felt sure that Sirius would never hurt him.

It seemed as if Professor Dumbledore had taken Harry's silence as an agreement though, because with another sigh he took Harry by the shoulder and began to lead him down the corridor.

''You also should have spared a thought to your aunt and uncle. They were shocked when I told them that you had run away without them knowing, and it seems you also lied to them about a doctors visit two weeks ago. They have been very worried about you, Harry.''

Harry could only barely suppress a sarcastic snort. Sure, they had been worried he might accidentally blow up the house. But what he didn't understand was why Dumbledore had talked to them anyway. ''How... I'm sorry Professor, but when have you spoken to the Dursleys, sir?''

''It had come to my attention this afternoon that you have left the house unattended. I went to meet your relatives at a park which is apparently used for a rather puzzling Muggle sport. I thought it seemed a bit unhurried for a competitive sport, but that might just be because we are used to the fast game of Quidditch. Your uncle nearly had a heart-attack when I showed up and told him that you weren't home, Harry. I am afraid that he was very angry, and he refused to have you back this summer. It was only after I assured them that such thing won't happen again, that they agreed to take you back in after the school-year.''

Harry just shrugged, listlessly. He didn't care whether the Dursleys never wanted to see him again. He would have gladly stayed at any other place during the summer. And he knew that the only reason his uncle had been furious, probably was the fact that a strange looking wizard had shown up at his important business event, and it was all Harry's fault.

''So what will happen now, sir?''

''I will take you to the Weasleys,'' Professor Dumbledore said, still not looking at Harry but marching him down the long hall of the Atrium, ''I have spoken with Arthur and Molly Weasley, and they have agreed that you can stay the rest of the summer at their home. Your belongings have already been taken there.'' He paused for a moment, turning to Harry now and piercing him with his bright blue eyes. ''And it goes without saying, that I don't want you to contact Sirius Black again, do you hear me Harry?''

Harry's whole body went tense and he pressed his lips together. He knew that Professor Dumbledore would only accept one answer. And, really, Harry wasn't able to do anything about it. It wasn't as if anyone cared about what_ he_ wanted.

''Yes, sir,'' Harry said finally, lowering his head. And while he followed his professor out of the Ministry building with his head bowed, he couldn't help but add in a quiet mumble, ''I hear you.''

-xSx-

They arrived at the strangely warped wizard home of the Weasley family just when afternoon tea had been finished, and were welcomed by a delighted and boisterous crowd of red-haired people.

Mrs Weasley immediately hugged Harry to her mighty chest before she held him on arm's length to study him, and came up with the expected conclusion that he looked much too thin. Ron, Fred and George were grinning at him, and at each other, and clapping him on the shoulder. And a tall young men with long hair and a fang dangling from his left ear, smiled at him in welcome before he reached out his hand, introducing himself as Bill Weasley, Ron's oldest brother.

''Ginny and Hermione went into the village with Charlie,'' Ron said, while Mrs Weasley shoved a cup of tea and a scone at Harry, urging him to sit down and eat, and then turning towards Professor Dumbledore.

''Would you like some tea, Albus? A scone? Please, sit down...''

The white-haired wizard smiled at her apologetically. ''That is certainly a tempting offer, Molly, since these scones look indeed delicious. But I am afraid I have a meeting with the Minister.'' He bowed his head in a gesture of farewell. ''Please give my regards to Arthur, and thank you for taking care of Harry.''

Mrs Weasley immediately waved away any need for gratitude. ''Oh, it's a pleasure,'' she beamed. ''He's a good boy. Don't worry, we will look after him.'' She gazed at Harry fondly, and he blushed a little. Her praise always seemed a bit over-the-top and made him slightly uncomfortable.

Professor Dumbledore on the other hand just looked at him with a serious expression.

''Remember what I have told you, Harry. It is very important,'' he said quietly.

Harry bowed his head and nodded, ignoring the curious expressions of Ron and the other Weasley boys. But as soon as the door had fallen shut behind the headmaster, they were turning to him with excited whispers.

''Is it true that you went to Azkaban all on your own?'' Ron asked wide-eyed.

''Awesome, mate! Did they have dragons?'' George's question earned him a mild slap to the back of his head by Bill.

''There are no dragons at Azkaban, you dummy. And it is not awesome. It is a dark and miserable place. No wizard would set a foot on that rock deliberately.''

''Well, Harry did!'' George said indignantly.

But Harry shuddered slightly when he met Bill's serious eyes. Yes. It had been scary and haunting and horrible. Thinking of the hooded figures that guarded the tower alone made him shiver.

''But did you see criminals?'' Fred butted in, sounding almost hopeful. ''Did you see werewolves?''

Harry shook his head. ''No. I didn't see anybody else. Only my godfather.''

That let the boys fell silent.

''Sirius Black.'' Bill nodded, watching Harry with interest. ''Dad told me he had requested to see you. I understand that you would have been curious. But it was still very risky, Harry. Azkaban is a truly horrible place, as I'm sure you've seen for yourself and-''

''And it's not a place for children,'' Mrs Weasley interrupted him, inexplicably glaring at her sons instead of Harry who, after all, had been the one who against better advice and, if you wanted to believe every adult around him, better judgement had gone there not only once but twice. ''It's dangerous! I can't understand how the Ministry could allow it! '' she went on, stroking over Harry's head and putting another scone on his plate. ''You must have been traumatized, dear.''

''Ehm...'' Harry said, feeling embarrassed and glaring at the snickering Weasely boys, ''It was okay... there was an Auror with me, and she made a silver animal thing that protected us...''

''A Patronus,'' Bill nodded, ''to keep away the Dementors.''

''What are Dementors?'' Ron asked with a frown, and Harry once more shuddered inside.

''They are the guards of Azkaban. They are horrible creatures who survive by dwelling on other peoples misery,'' Bill explained.

''They suck out every happy thought and memory you have,'' Harry whispered. ''It's cruel. No one should have to live like that.''

''Well no decent witch or wizard has to,'' Mrs Weasley said decisively. ''Only people who deserve it get send to Azkaban. And now I don't want to hear another word about this matter, do you hear me?'' she glared at her sons again. ''Go out and do something useful before dinner. The garden needs to be degnomed, and the chicken haven't been fed either.''

With some mumbled complains of the Weasley boys, the twins, Ron and Harry went outside, and while Fred and George started to hunt for the little, gnarled, brownish creatures, Ron and Harry turned towards the chicken den.

''So, how was he?'' Ron asked after a while, ''You know, your godfather...?''

Harry hesitated a moment before he answered. ''Pretty cool, to be honest,'' he said then, trying to give a casual shrug. ''Especially if you consider what he's been through.''

''Huh? What do you mean?'' Ron asked confused.

''He has it pretty bad,'' Harry explained. ''I mean,_ really_ bad. He's thin and dirty and wears rags... and then there are the Dementors. They are awful. But... when he was talking to me, he seemed just like a really great guy...''

Ron stared at him with a frown, but then his eyes focussed on something slightly left of Harry's shoulder.

''Oh. Here she comes. Good luck, mate!''

''Harry!'' Hermione shrieked, running up to them and slinging her arms around Harry's neck, hugging him fiercely.

''Ehm... Hermione?'' Harry asked, feeling surprised and a bit embarrassed. He glared at a sniggering Ron, mouthing 'What's with her?', but Ron just shrugged and rolled his eyes, obviously not wanting to rise up to the challenge of explaining their friends strange behaviour.

''Oh Harry...'' Hermione said, and it was clear from her voice that she was really upset.

''What is it?'' Harry asked worried. ''I'm fine, you know. Nothing happened...''

But Hermione pulled back from him, shaking her head. ''You know you shouldn't have done that.''

''Done what?'' Harry asked, starting to feel a bit annoyed. ''Go to Azkaban? Why not? Sirius is my godfather, I have a right to get to know him if I want to!'' he said defensively.

''Harry...'' Hermione looked pained.

''What?''

She hesitated. ''I investigated a bit, like you asked me to...''

''Yeah.'' Harry nodded, not sure at all he liked where this was going. ''And?''

''Harry...'' the bushy-haired girl bit her lip, ''Sirius Black... he was a Death Eater.''

Ron gasped in shock, but Harry just frowned. He thought he had heard that expression somewhere before, but he had no idea what it meant.

''What is that supposed to mean? Someone who's not a vegetarian?'' he asked exasperatedly. But neither Hermione nor Ron seemed to think that was funny.

''It's... it's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves. He was one of them. He was one of V-Voldemort's followers.''

Harry wasn't sure what shocked him more, Hermione using Voldemort's name, or the ridiculous idea that Sirius had been a supporter of the man who killed Harry's parents. Sirius' best friends. Hermione looked at him like she was truly sorry, and Harry wanted to tell her to stop it. Because it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

''That's nonsense,'' Harry said finally, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. ''He couldn't be. He was a friend of my parents, remember? They wouldn't have been friends with someone like that.''

''It was in The Daily Prophet, Harry.''

''Yeah, and we know how reliable that is, don't we?'' Harry sneered angrily. This was stupid. The stupid Prophet had been writing nonsense before. This didn't mean...

Hermione seemed to be fighting back tears. ''I'm sorry,'' she said helplessly. ''But you asked me to...''

''He said his family had a reputation as dark wizards, that's probably why The Prophet would write such a thing,'' Harry said, trying to look at it rationally, explain to his friends why the idea was utterly silly. ''But Sirius is different! Really! He said Muggleborns were just the same as other wizards, that they were even better equipped for life because they have both, the magic and the Muggle knowledge.'' Harry looked from one of his friends to the other. ''It can't be true. They've got it wrong!''

Ron looked doubtful and sorry. ''But what about the murders, Harry?''

Harry hesitated, looking away before he mumbled, ''He said he didn't do it...''

''Oh, Harry...'' Hermione sighed.

''No! I'm not saying that I believe that. I'm just saying that maybe... maybe there is an explanation, maybe it wasn't like it sounds, maybe...''

''He blew up a street Harry,'' Hermione interrupted him. ''In broad daylight, in the middle of London. There were a lot of people around, including another wizard. Thirteen were killed. And afterwards he stood there and laughed!''

Hermione looked at him like she was challenging him to explain that away. Which he couldn't. Because he had not asked Sirius about any of this. If he was honest with himself he probably had not wanted to hear the answers. But now he wished he had asked, because he was sure... there had to be something... Sirius was not a truly bad person... was he?

''Sounds like he's mad, mate,'' Ron said with a shrug. Not very helpful either.

''Look...,'' Harry said desperately, and he wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince, ''I know how it looks. But you haven't met him. He's not like that. Maybe it was an accident. A spell that went wrong...''

''There were eyewitnesses, Harry. And if it was an accident, they wouldn't just send him to Azkaban, would they?''

''No? Look what happened to Hagrid in our second year! He was innocent too! And witnesses can be mistaken.''

Hermione and Ron looked at each other awkwardly, and that was the worst of all.

''I'm not saying he didn't do anything wrong, but... he's my godfather. He... he said... he was really nice. And if all this is true, I want to ask him myself why he did it.''

''Harry...'' Hermione looked at him alarmed.

''Harry,'' Ron swallowed, ''You're not saying... you don't want to...''

''Yeah. I want to go to Azkaban again.''

The expression on Ron's face almost defied description. And Harry was certain that he had never seen Hermione look at him like that. And that only made him feel further apart from them and everyone else around him, as if he was the only inhabitant in a world of his own. So maybe it was lucky that Mrs. Weasley called them in for dinner just then, and the argument that Harry had already seen coming was at least postponed.

~s~

Harry had always liked staying at the Weasleys. They were a nice family, and the very opposite of everything Harry had known living at the Durselys. Mr. Weasley was friendly and relaxed, and Mrs Weasley fed him as if she thought he hadn't got any food for months, which would have been a bit of an exaggeration. But It felt good to be liked instead of being insulted, and of course he was finally with his friends again. That was what he had been looking forward to the most.

But he had not expected it to be like this.

It wasn't that they were fighting. It wasn't that they were not talking. But, unlike Hermione, Harry didn't want to resume the conversation of his first evening at the Burrow, and ignoring the issue seemed to keep building up a wall between him and his friends and, in extent, between him and everybody else.

Because while he didn't want to talk about his godfather and his supposed crimes, Sirius was the only thing on his mind, and so Harry had come to talk less and less. He would often sit there, pretending to listen to the conversation going on around him, while really he was far away, replaying another conversation and trying to think up a way how he would get another opportunity to visit his godfather. After all, Sirius would be waiting for him, wouldn't he? But how would he ever be able to sneak away from the Burrow? How could he arrange another visit right under the nose of Professor Dumbledore?

Harry had been sure that with ten other people around to do the talking, his silence would not be that apparent. But it seemed he had been mistaken. While, with Hermione's less than subtle attempts to bring the topic of Sirius back up, his own patience had been running short and shorter, it was finally Ron who lost it one evening when they were sitting outside in the back yard, enjoying a mild summer evening.

''Hermione, will you please drop it?'' he hissed, when Hermione had once more started to drop hints about Voldemort and the people who had followed him. ''He doesn't want to talk about Black, why can't you just quit it?''

It seemed that Ron had realized pretty quickly that his friend didn't want to discuss his godfather, and had accepted it. Ron seldom was bothered by what he considered not to be his business. Hermione on the other hand obviously felt like she had to keep trying, intending to make Harry see that Sirius was untrustworthy and only out to take whatever advantage he might get from getting close to him. And while Harry normally felt at least some sort of gratitude towards his friend for worrying about him, this time it only kept annoying him. Because what ever Hermione had to say, Harry really didn't want to hear it.

Right now Hermione had blushed a in a light shade of pink and glared at Ron, who looked at her unconcerned.

''Excuse me for worrying about me friend!'' she snapped. ''But I-''

''Well, don't! Okay?'' Harry had jumped up in agitation, and was now staring down at her, his hands balling into fists. ''There is nothing to worry about! I just _talked_ to him! He told me about my parents. You know, the ones that got _murdered_ when I was a little kid, the ones I can't even remember! What's so fucking wrong about that!''

Harry didn't wait for an answer, just turning around to stalk back towards the house, his mind a mess of furious thoughts and emotions.

~s~

Hermione had noticeably separated herself from Ron and Harry during the next days, staying more in the company of Ginny and Mrs Weasley. And if he had been honest with himself, Harry would have admitted that he felt a little guilty for being so harsh, and storming off like he had, when he knew Hermione had only wanted to help. But at this point, being honest with himself wasn't top of Harry's list of priorities and at least Hermione had stopped pestering him about Sirius.

And finally the day they had all been waiting for arrived. Although Harry had somehow been a lot more eager _before_ his mind got occupied almost exclusively with another kind of excursion, that had proved to be, if less cheerful, then much more intriguing. Still, it was Quidditch, and Harry couldn't help but get sucked in by al the excitement. And after all, he thought, his Dad and Sirius probably would have loved to be part of such an event, seeing as they had both played and had been fans of the wizard sport, and somehow that made Harry feel closer to them.

They had made a very early start that morning, and travelled by the means of something called a Portkey, which was actually nothing but a bewitched piece of garbage. It transported them directly to a forest close to the pitch of the Quidditch World Cup, and Harry suddenly realized what a huge event the Quidditch World Cup was, with wizards from all over the world arriving in England to witness the final match between Ireland and Bulgaria. The area was already brimming with excited people, a fact that obviously had the Ministry in a glitch, trying to keep the whole thing hidden from the Muggles. All the more strange in Harry's opinion was that they were staying on a Muggle camp ground, and not only the Weasleys but what looked like thousands of wizards going crazy with anticipation while a few Ministry employees were trying to reign it all in.

The Weasleys had pretty much done a good job in disguising themselves as Muggles, but some of the wizards and witches obviously had less understanding on what would be considered appropriate in the English countryside. There was a man who had combined a kilt with a colourful South-American poncho, a witch in what looked like a lace-adorned nightgown and of course many people who simply wore wizard robes despite the occasion, although not everyone in as mind-blowing colours as the stocky man wrapped in black and yellow stripes who resembled very much an excited hornet.

To Harry's surprise that very same man joined them after they had pulled up their tent and were preparing dinner on an open fire. While the tent, which looked pretty much like any Muggle equivalent from the outside, turned out to be a three-bedroom flat with a working kitchen from the inside, Mr. Weasley had still insisted that they would make dinner Muggle-style, trying to set a good example which probably would go ignored.

So while he polished off his eggs and sausages, Harry curiously eyed the outlandish but cheerful looking man who was speaking rather amiably with Mr. Weasley.

He turned towards his left, to where Bill Weasley was sitting, but before he could ask who the strange man was, Mr. Weasley turned towards them with a broad smile.

''Everybody, this is Ludo Bagman, head of the Magical Games and Sports department. He was the one who organized our tickets.''

Harry blinked. This was a Ministry official? A high Ministry official?

''Why is he wearing auch clothes?'' Harry mumbled more to himself.

But Bill must have heard him and grinned at him before he whispered, ''He was playing as a Beater for Wimbourne Wasps before he joined the Ministry. Those must be his old Quidditch robes. A bit tight around the middle, aren't they?''

Harry couldn't help but grin back. Bill had turned out to be very different from what he had expected from a former Hogwarts Headboy. ''But shouldn't he try to be a little less conspicious?'' he asked in the same low voice.

But Bill just shrugged. ''Most people here should. But there aren't many occasions like these, where we have the opportunity to come together and celebrate. It's nothing a few well-placed memory-charms couldn't fix.''

Harry couldn't argue with that, not that he would have wanted to. He simply wanted to enjoy being part of it. This was what the wizard world was like. This was how it would have been for him, had his parents survived, or, maybe, even if he had come to live with his godfather. For a moment he was lost in a bitter-sweet fantasy of himself joining his dad and Sirius to come and see the World Cup. Staying with his own family instead of Ron's, meeting up with his friends just like they had met Seamus earlier that day. They might have made camp next to each other, sharing dinner and discussing the up-coming match. Suddenly, in his mind there were two black-haired men sitting among them, joking and laughing and relaxed. This was how it could have been. But of course it was nothing but a childish fantasy. Something he was far too old for by now. And there really was no reason for him to suddenly feel lonely in a group of people he truly liked, and who truly liked him. He should be grateful for having been invited. And still, here he sat, suddenly feeling a longing that seemed old and familiar and nevertheless unsettling, like he had only now really discovered its existence.

After introductions had been made, and the usual ogling of his forehead had been done with, Ludo Bagman joined the Weasleys for a cup of tea, and Harry turned away from the group a little to just sit and watch all those normal wizard families around them enjoying themselves. He was just curiously observing a little girl in the green colours of the Irish, riding what looked like a miniature broom which didn't rose far enough to keep the girl's toes from brushing the ground. Not looking where she was going, she nearly bumped into two Ministry officials that had apparated close to their camp just that moment. Harry grinned at the girl's mortified look and the annoyed flusters of the man and the woman, when out of nowhere a sharp pain suddenly pierced his skull.

With a yelp, Harry immediately clutched his forehead. The cry was certainly much softer than any other boy's would have been feeling such a pain, but Harry had never been a crier. Harry was used to pain, and this pain especially. He had felt it before. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was a mark from the day Voldemort had killed his parents and had tried to do the same to Harry. But until today it had only ever been hurting when the dark wizard had been around some way or the other, and it was highly ridiculous to think that Voldemort, who had been reduced to nothing but a fleeing shadow as far as Harry knew, would join the ranks of Quidditch enthusiasts to watch the game. Wasn't it?

The pain was slowly ebbing away from him now, and he looked up bleary eyed just to be met with the concerned face of Ginny.

''Harry, you alright?''

''Yeah,'' Harry mumbled, rubbing his forehead, ''I'm fine. Just a little headache...''

''Okay...'' She frowned at him, but then shrugged. ''There's dessert. Pumpkin pie. You want some?''

''Sure.'' Harry tried to smile at her. ''Lead the way.''

Ginny rolled her eyes at him, and dragged him up, and together they went over to the fire, where the two Ministry officials had joined their group, although they looked far less cheerful.

''No, sorry, Arthur,'' the man with the thin moustache and the astonishingly crisp suit was just saying, ''But we really don't have the time to sit and dawdle.'' He turned towards Bagman. ''Bertha here has been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.''

''Oh, is that what they are after? I had no idea. Well, Bertha can handle that, can't she?'' Bagman smiled winningly at the woman dressed in a plain black dress, that managed to look almost like a wizard robe but still be within the Muggle dressing code. '' Come on, Barty,'' he said, clapping the stern looking man on the shoulder. ''It's the World Cup, we ought to have some fun and enjoy ourselves.''

''Well, I'm afraid you have to enjoy yourself with the Bulgarian Minister,'' the man said with a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. ''He is insisting to speak to you personally.''

''Ah, I guess it can't be helped,'' Bagman sighed dramatically. ''Well, I see you all in the Top Box later. I will be commentating!'' He gave them another cheerful wave and the three of them disapparated with a soft pop.

When the sweetness of the pumpkin pie hit his taste buds and he looked in all the merry faces around him, the pain in Harry's forehead ebbed away, soon to be forgotten.

~s~

The match had been everything Harry had hoped for and much more than he would have expected. Curiously enough the outcome had been exactly what the twins had predicted, and the two of them were seemingly in even higher spirits than the supporters of the Irish team since they had placed all there savings for a bet with Mr. Bagman on Ireland winning but the Bulgarian Seeker, Victor Krum, getting the Snitch. It had been an outside bet and there should be quite a bit cash waiting for them.

Harry too had been swept away by the whole amazing spectacle. There had been dancing Veelas and flying Leprechauns that looked like fireworks. And the game itself had been played with such an amazing skill, that Harry had been full of awe and longing to be able to do what these professional Quidditch players were doing, diving and turning with blurring speed. If nothing else, the excitement of the crowd, the cheers and the gasps had been intoxicating in their own right, and when it was all over Harry felt dazed, almost as if he was waking up from a dream, pleasantly tired but still brimming with a happy thrill, like he was riding on a wave of faint jauntiness, adrift and far away from all his troubles.

With all the spectators slowly bleeding out of the stadium, they descended down the stairs from the Top Box, while Leprechauns were still soaring over their heads, cackling and waving their bright lanterns, and the air of the mild summer night was full of laughter and singing and joyful jubilation.

No one wanted to go to bed right away and they ended up in front of their tents with a night cup of cocoa. Harry was watching the flames of the low burning fire, listening to Charlie and Mr Weasleys discussion and Ron and the twins recounting the most spectacular moves of the players, too tired to take part in the conversation and just content to not think about anything much for the moment. When they finally all changed into their pyjamas and Harry climbed into his bunk, he could still here the faint singing and laughter and the occasional bang from the other side of the campsite where most of the Irish had made camp and would probably celebrate their team's victory up till the next morning.

It all mixed up in Harry 's drifting mind when he thought of himself in the bright colours of the national team, diving like Krum had done today to the deafening cheers of the crowd, coming up with the Snitch and circling the stadium, his eyes finding his parents and Sirius in the stands, cheering and beaming at him with their eyes full of pride and love and...

''Get up! Ron, Harry, get up now! Come on, this is urgent!''

It was Mr. Weasley's voice that pulled him out of slumber, and from the anxious note Harry knew immediately that something was wrong. Dimly, he became aware of different noises. Instead of the laughter and the singing there were now screams and the sound of people running and stumbling.

Mr. Weasley urged them on and Harry could only grab his coat before they all got shooed outside. People were stumbling past, fleeing in the direction of the woods, away from something that was moving across the field, towards them. In the dim light of the few burning fires Harry could only make out what looked like a crowd of tightly packed people, moving slowly but with purpose. There were odd flashes of light and bangs, like spells being fired, and there was jeering and laughter that was nothing like the earlier innocent celebrations.

Harry made a step towards the ruckus, trying to see what the hell was happening there, when a thin, middle aged wizard grabbed him by the arm.

''Run!'' he yelled, wild frightened eyes boring into his, ''What are you waiting for?'' And then he added in a shuddering whisper, ''It's them!''

He let go of Harry and hastened further, and Harry stared after him shocked and confused. With his back turned on the scene now, he didn't see the witch that bummed into him next, painfully ramming her elbow in his side. Harry groaned. He should probably get out of the way.

''Come on Harry! We have to go!'' Hermione cried urgently, fear audible in her voice.

Harry turned towards his friends once more, coming face to face with the witch that had run into him, her nightgown fluttering around her, her hair in disarray.

''It's the Death Eaters!'' she muttered, eyes frantic. ''How could it be... it's the Death Eaters!'' she cried louder, seemingly not taking notice of Harry.

_Death Eaters?_

Harry whipped around, staring back at the commotion that came further and further into their direction. Tents got blown up, some of which were catching fire. So this were those ominous Death Eaters... What the hell were they anyway? The wizard equivalent of some biker gang? They definitely seemed to be troublemakers, and Harry briefly thought of Sirius and stories about a flying motorcycle. But if Sirius had been one of them, surely they couldn't be that bad? Maybe it was just like with werewolves and giants, hugely blown out of proportion, people adding gossip of a connection to Voldemort?

Harry was ripped out of his musing by Hermione, grabbing his arm and dragging him back where the others had gathered. Mr. Weasley looked very serious, and told them to go and hide in the forest, insisting they stay away until the Ministry had the situation handled. He looked at each of them sharply, as if to underline how serious he was, and then he, Bill, Charlie and Percy were running towards the source of the trouble, wands in their hands.

''Come on!'' Ron and Hermione started pushing Harry in the direction where the twins had already vanished with Ginny in tow, and they ran too, stumbling in the near darkness. Hermione pulled out her wand.

''Lumos!'' she whispered and Harry heard Ron mumble, ''Good idea.''

Harry too dug in the pocket of his jacket for his wand, Ron's already lighting up in the darkness. But his wasn't there. Frantically Harry searched for it in ever increasing panic, knowing it was futile. He had come to an halt, feeling a cold dread fill him like icy water.

''Harry what are you waiting for!'' Hermione called impatiently from further down the path.

''I- I lost my wand...'' Harry bit his lip, looking back towards the direction of their tent uncertainly. ''I must have lost it when that witch ran into me. You go ahead, I just run and fetch it, I'll be right behind you!''

Hermione looked torn, but Ron grabbed her by the wrist, jerking his head towards the forest, as if to tell Harry that they would meet up there. Harry nodded and turned back to the tent, hurrying towards it with his eyes on the ground for the unlikely possibility that his wand had just fallen out of his pocket on the few yards they had come so far.

But Harry didn't find his wand, neither on the path, nor where he had collided with the witch earlier. It was dark, apart from the light from occasional explosions and fires, the flickering spells of the group of wizards that had drawn awfully close now. And then, in a flash of green light Harry could suddenly see the center of the crowd. There were people in hooded cloaks, their faces hidden behind masks and their wands pointed upwards at something in the air. A shiver ran down his back, as acid bile accumulated in his stomach pressing up his throat. There were people in the air! High up above the crowd, two bigger and two smaller and Harry felt sick when he saw in another flash of light that it was the camp side manager and what was probably his wife and children, the smallest not older than four or five.

They were harassing Muggles. And suddenly the claim Hermione had made rang much louder in his mind. _ Voldemort's supporters. _But surely not Sirius? Surely Sirius wouldn't do something like that? Not even when he had been a mischief-making, rule-breaking youth, coming from a family of dark wizards?

Harry shivered in the cold night air, and he suddenly felt awfully alone and exposed, and not at all certain that coming back had been a good idea. There were no more people around. The camp ground seemed almost deserted, apart from the group of strange wizards that was breaking up now, the formation falling apart into smaller groups, as fights broke out, probably with members of the Ministry, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy among them.

And then he heard a sound, like stumbling footsteps and whispered curses, coming closer. Ducking into the entrance of their tent, Harry saw the shadows of two people, bulky with their heavy, hooded cloaks.

''What the hell, Avery? Let's just forget it and get out of here! You want to be caught?''

''Just a moment. I'm sure I saw him in this direction. Maybe he is hiding in a tent somewhere... '' His head turned towards where Harry stood, hiding in the shadows of the tent, and for a split second he was sure that the wizard was looking directly at him. Whom were they looking for? They couldn't be looking for him, could they? Had he been seen?

''If you wanna look, make it quick!'' the other man urged, looking around nervously.

''Hmm... or I can just blow them all up, see if I can chase him out,'' the first one said with what Harry was certain was a side smile, even if he couldn't see it under the mask. He came nearer, and Harry drew back instinctively, stumbling over a cauldron with a dull sound.

''Well, well, seems _someone's _been hiding in there,'' the man drawled.

''Just blast the damn thing up for Salazar's sake! And _hurry_!'' the other groaned exasperatedly.

The only answer from his companion was a cruel laugh.

''Don't piss yourself,'' he said, and then he slowly raised his arm, wand in hand, eyes fixed on the door to their tent. Harry stood frozen in shock. He could only stare at the man, and at the arm holding the wand that would surely kill him. Now, any moment. Killed by a man who's face he had never seen. Who didn't care if he had the right person cornered or an innocent bystander. Who laughed about the idea.

_And afterwards he stood there and laughed! _

The sleeve of the wizards coat was falling back, exposing a tattoo, that Harry couldn't quite discern. Then Harry squeezed his eyes shut, dropping to the floor in a small ball, expecting the blast.

But it never came. There was a collective gasp of shock from the two men, a brief scuffle and then the faint popping sound indicating they had apparated away.

Shaking from the rush of adrenalin, it took Harry a few moments until he was able to compose himself and peak out the tent. The sky was glowing green, and when Harry stepped out, looking up for what ever might have caused it, he saw what looked like a huge green snake of light curling from the screaming mouth of a ghostly skull, a creepy light-show against the dull clouds.

TBC

* * *

**At this point I would truly appreciate your thoughts and comments! **

**Please review! x Zaira**


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